Nightfall
by LadyArmster
Summary: Beloved by the night, Walter Bernhard thought he was content with power and eternity. After a chance encounter, he realizes love may be a greater game than any he has ever played. Now, he must decide how far he will go - and how much he is willing to lose in order to win. (pre-Lament of Innocence)
1. Audition

**Author's Note: **After a very long hiatus (7ish years!?), I'm back! This story has been floating around in my head for a very long time. I decided to write it after Darksymphony777 reviewed my other work, Melancholia, on YouTube. Although this is intended to be a "prequel" to Melancholia, you do **not** have to read Melancholia to understand the plot or characters.

Unfortunately, stories about Walter are few and far between. I think Walter is a fascinating character and far more than the sadistic sociopath he appeared to be in _Lament of Innocence_.

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. I love feedback because it lets me know people are reading my work!

This fic is dedicated to Darksymphony777 (who inspired me to start writing again) and those who read/followed Melancholia (you know who you are – aka lateniteslacker, Azariyabelmont, etc.)

**Chapter I**

Walter glided into the home; his steps echoing softly upon the marble floor. The walls were covered with elaborate tapestries depicting men and women of esteem, Greek gods, and famous battles from bygone eras. The home was warm and inviting. Its vast corridors and rooms were alit by numerous candelabras along the walls and gold chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings. Though many would have admired such decadence, the red-haired lord barely gave it any mind as he walked through the space. He wound his way through the throngs of guests. All wore beautiful garments made of silk, satin, and the finest jewelry and embroidery their wealth afforded them. Women dressed in elaborate gowns smiled and eyed the stranger. He felt their eyes follow him as he went, quietly curious about the visitor in their midst. A few women bowed their heads. His striking appearance and unbridled confidence drew their attention. Over time, he had grown used to such things, and scarcely paid them any mind.

It had been some time since he attended a party, though it was a necessity he enjoyed partaking in when it suited him. His tall, masculine appearance never went unnoticed – but all it took was a smile and a bow to prove he belonged among them. It amused him knowing how easy it was to dwell among the sheep. A part of him enjoyed pretending to be one of them. He would listen to the trivial matters defining their short, empty lives: war, money and status. Frequently, he would learn who was in good graces with the courts and church and who had become the latest social pariah. It mattered not to him one way or another, for his world was completely unlike theirs.

Lord Trantoul, though much shorter in stature than his guest, had a kind and cheerful disposition. He was average height with neatly kept dark brown hair and a thin goatee. A luxurious wolf fur pelt covered his shoulders; protecting them from the winter cold. His long, navy colored robes were embroidered with silver and gold thread.

With a hearty laugh, the man passed him a glass of red wine. "Ah, Lord Bernhard!" He exclaimed. "Tis' good of you to come. You haven't aged a day despite how regretfully long it has been since we last met! I hope you are well and finding everything to your liking?"

Walter bowed. The coils of his rich, red hair splayed around his face and shoulders like waves of fire. "Tis' an enjoyable celebration, Lord Trantoul." His voice, deep and assertive, resonated through the room.

"What the devil are my servants up to that you should be without a drink?" The nobleman joked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Where on earth have you been? Certainly not fighting in the east judging by that fair complexion of yours!"

Walter accepted the glass, returning the other lord's observation with a practiced smile. Without missing a beat, he replied graciously. "My duties have kept me rather occupied. How goes the war?"

The other lord shrugged; attesting a clear disinterest for matters beyond his immediate concern. "As well as any war can, Lord Bernhard. Men go off to fight and many more do not return. This has created quite a predicament."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

The other lord laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. "Why, there are so many unclaimed beauties I can scarcely look two feet in front of me without sighting one! I am certain some here are on the hunt tonight for a fine man like yourself."

The red-haired lord's smile broadened. "Is that so?"

"Never fear, Lord Bernhard. I'm sure you'll catch one for yourself, yet!"

"Perhaps." Walter took a sip of wine. "On my way in, I heard someone say the Belmonts could not attend. Surprising, given Baron Leopold's recent victory in the east."

Lord Trantoul's smile faded. After glancing around to ensure no one was near enough to overhear, his voice lowered. "I thought everyone knew of the rumor by now, despite Baron Belmont's efforts to keep it in the family..."

Upon hearing the urgency in the man's voice, Walter raised an eyebrow. Feigning disinterest, he replied. "I do not care for rumors unless they concern my interests. Do enlighten me though, Lord Trantoul. If it is, in fact, merely speculation, it shall be of little consequence to Baron Belmont's reputation. Tis' a shame he is not here. I had been looking forward to meeting Leopold. He was your _guest of honor_, after all."

The man nodded stiffly. While giving the red-haired lord a concerned look, he whispered. "Indeed, he was. I thought a party celebrating the church's accomplishments would have drawn him like a bee to honey. I am sure, you understand the importance of family allegiances, Lord Bernhard. Nevertheless, it cannot be helped."

"It seems not." Walter muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Baron Belmont's prowess in battle earned his family respect and fortune. His talents intrigue me, for they are a rarity. I had hoped to share a _drink_ with him tonight..."

Sensing the other lord's displeasure, Lord Trantoul shook his head. "Well, since you asked...I heard Baron Belmont has been attending to his wife as of late. They say she is ill. After giving birth to their son, the Baroness' humors became imbalanced. Her black bile was so excessive that she frequently succumbed to bouts of melancholia. During her most recent _incident, _she threw a candle and nearly burnt the entire estate to the ground! Do not take my word for it though. Tis' merely rumor and hearsay."

"Interesting..." Walter huffed, unmoved by the man's account. "I had hoped Baron Belmont would not disappoint. Alas, I shall have to find another source of entertainment this evening..."

"The night is young, Lord Bernhard!" The other lord chuckled good-naturedly. "Now, enough gossip, my friend. Every person in this room is playing their own game tonight, as is expected at these sorts of events. Perhaps, you shall simply have to start a new one?" Before the red-haired lord could respond, Lord Trantoul tapped a man next to him on the shoulder. "Lord Conqvist, have you perchance met Lord Bernhard?"

The other man turned round, his chestnut-colored eyes looking at the tall, fair-skinned gentleman before him with muted interest. His long fingers were covered with numerous gold rings, which clinked restlessly against his glass. His face was smooth and clean-shaven, giving him a deceptive youthfulness that contrasted his cynical disposition. His long, copper colored robes swept gracefully with him when he moved. Dark brown hair framed his regal visage and fell just below his shoulders in thick waves. A heavy brown cloak trimmed with rabbit fur covered his back.

After studying the stranger a moment, he gave an approving nod. "I am afraid we have not met. I am Lord Sebastian Cronqvist."

"Lord Cronqvist is a respected scholar," Lord Trantroul explained, ushering dramatically to the other lord like one addressing some sort of god. "He is studying with Rinaldo Gandolfi, whom I'm certain you have heard of?"

"I am afraid not." Walter replied. When the noblemen glanced at one another in surprise, he added smoothly. "Could you enlighten me?"

"I am studying a branch of natural philosophy and speculative theory." Lord Cronqvist explained, his condescending tone contradicting his gracious disguise. "Sir Gandolfi is an expert in the field. Though he is younger than I, his knowledge is astounding."

The red-haired lord needed no further explanation, for the man had his complete and undivided attention. "I see." He replied thoughtfully, his eyes shining with sudden enthusiasm. He wondered if the man Lord Cronqvist mentioned knew the whereabouts of an object he sought. He had spent the better part of two hundred years searching for it. Walter tossed his head, curtaining his growing interest beneath wavelets of lush red hair. Undoubtedly, the man was studying something far beyond his limited understanding.

With an impish smirk, the red-haired lord asked, "Do you wish to learn how to cure disease and extend life?"

Lord Cronqvist shifted uncomfortably. A brief silence passed before their eyes met. "I wish to learn about God's elements so that I may use them to further the church's ambitions."

Walter noticed the nobleman's eyes drift to the oval-shaped black object adorning his neck. The human's perceptiveness startled him somewhat. Without thinking, he grasped the intricate gold necklace and slid his fingers across the smooth, round stone. As if to ensure it was still there, he touched it lightly. Displeasure flickered across his elegant face when the man probed further.

"That necklace…what is it? I have never seen a stone like that. Is it obsidian?" Lord Cronqvist asked, his eyes narrowing when the red-haired lord's gloved hand covered it from view. Unwilling to relent despite the other lord's silence, he added under his breath, "That looks like something Sir Gandolfi would find interesting…"

Another long silence passed. Walter stared at the man, his distaste for him growing each passing moment.

When the silence became unbearable, Lord Trantoul politely ushered the red-haired lord away. "Lord Bernhard, I would be a poor host if I did not introduce you to some of my other guests. As you so rarely attend these events, tis' best you make some valuable connections."

"I am grateful for your consideration, Lord Trantoul." Walter replied, giving the other lord a scathing look before returning his attention to his host. The intervention relieved him, for he did not want an educated mind interested in his affairs.

"Excellent!" Lord Trantou continued, his cheerful voice carrying through the large ballroom. As his host passed a servant carrying a tray of wine, he picked a goblet off the tray along the way as if plucking a delicious fruit. They had nearly crossed the length of the room when he halted and spun around to face him, his wine sloshing haphazardly with his sudden motion. "I shall next introduce you to Lord Armster. He has an estate in a village not far from here called Creightel. Do keep in mind he is rather…unusual."

"Is that so? Do explain." Walter eyed the other lord curiously, his dark eyes glinting with sudden interest.

He took a sip of wine and looked around the room, sighting only well-dressed men accompanied closely by hen-like ladies with contrived smiles. The selection that evening left much to be desired, though he was certain it would matter little when his hunger took hold at the end of the night. The familiar, dull ache in his mouth reminded him that blood was blood, no matter the class of person it came from.

Seeing that his guest had not sighted the man in question, Lord Trantoul laughed and waved him onward. "Ah! You cannot miss him, I assure you – even one with your keen eye will know whom I speak of in a minute. Lord Armster is rather fair."

"Fairer than I? Surely, you jest." Walter smirked, knowing his uncharacteristically pale complexion would not be overshadowed easily. He took another sip of his wine, relishing its rich velvety taste. He swirled it in his mouth a moment; doubtful that any of Lord Trantoul's guests would impress him so easily.

"Alas, he is stricken with some sort of condition. I dare say, he looks albeit devilish with his white hair and skin. Do try to pay that no matter, for he is highly regarded by the church, and is thus a valuable ally."

The red-haired lord nodded. Already bored, he considered excusing himself. He needed to decide which among them would join him for dinner that evening, for he was getting hungry, and opportunities were ever-fleeting. Nevertheless, he permitted one more inconvenience, for he did not wish to create bad relations by refusing his host's hospitality. It did not take him long to discern whom Lord Trantoul spoke of. Among the groups of chattering nobles, a tall, slender man with straight white hair immediately captured his interest. In all his centuries of existence, he had never seen anyone quite like him. The pale man wore silvery-grey robes and steel boots. His monochrome appearance had not gone unnoticed by other guests, who watched and whispered with nervous curiosity. The man's regal visage was almost the color of snow. His cold, sapphire blue eyes contrasted his ashen skin. Walter detected most guests were apprehensive around him – he could hear heart beats quicken whenever the pale man's eyes locked upon their focus of interest.

Though he was surrounded by people, most maintained a greater than typical distance, as if in the presence of a leper. Despite this, every guest seemed to go out of their way to pay their regards with a polite nod, bow, or curtsy. Many more tried to approach and engage in some form of conversation, dropping names, attempting to flatter, or gloating about their successes.

Lord Trantoul's demeanor tensed, like one approaching an unpredictable beast. His voice, once warm and congenial, adopted an air of nervous formality. The white-haired lord's piercing eyes fell upon the man as if an insect had crossed his path.

Lord Trantoul was first to speak. "Lord Armster, do forgive my interruption."

The pale lord's gaze flitted to the crimson-haired stranger in his company. When he spoke, the sharpness in his voice made the other lord wince with embarrassment. "_Who are you?_"

Taken aback by the crusader's brusqueness, Lord Trantoul fell into an uneasy silence. In an effort to keep the pale lord's attention away from their host, Walter approached and swept a confident bow. "Good evening. I am Lord Walter Bernhard."

The pale man huffed. His face wore a mask of cold indifference. "I see." He snipped. Feigning interest, he took a small sip of wine and inquired. "From where do you hail, Lord _Bernhard_?" A tiny smirk creased the corners of his fine lips. He flicked aside the strands of his long, abnormally white hair.

Though somewhat irritated by the man's dismissiveness, Walter returned the smirk. "Eternal Night."

The white-haired lord raised an eyebrow. "I have never heard of it." A derisive chuckle escaped his throat as if finding humor in the other lord's response. His piercing eyes flitted to their host with mock amusement. "Where _do_ you find these people, Lord Trantoul?" He scoffed.

Walter took a sip of wine, unwilling to be so easily baited. When their eyes met, he stared at his pale appearance for a few moments too long – deliberately testing the man's patience. When the other lord shifted uncomfortably, his smirk broadened. "Indeed, after meeting you, I must ask the same."

The crusader's dark blue eyes narrowed. "I do not take kindly to those with a sharp tongue."

"Now, gentlemen," Lord Trantoul interjected; visibly exasperated by the constant tension. "Must petty quarrels dampen a fine evening? Both of you should have more wine and forget this nonsense."

As if on cue, Lord Armster's attention shot to a figure in the crowd. His sharp gaze locked upon a young woman a few feet from them. She greeted the other guests with a smile and a nod as she made her way their direction. Her skin was smooth and fair; indicating a life of protection, comfort and privilege. Her presence drew the eyes of several noblemen, who looked at her but dare not approach under the white-haired lord's watchful eye. The lady's straight blonde hair floated lightly behind her; its sleek, glossy strands brushing against her cheeks. Her long, ash grey colored dress fanned around her graceful figure and trailed on the floor. Though she smiled, Walter detected a hint of melancholy in her face. She avoided holding her gaze upon other guests for long; as if fearing they would see through her mask.

The moment she realized Lord Armster's attention was upon her, her smile faded, and she reluctantly approached. The crusader gazed at her attentively, the coldness in his eyes tempering somewhat in her presence. "Milady, Lord Trantoul and his guests are tiring of conversation. Perhaps you could play for them? I am certain our host would be pleased by your show of appreciation. I would enjoy it also."

The woman shook her head. "Milord, I do not wish to trouble Lord Trantoul and his guests-"

"Nonsense!" Lord Trantoul laughed, his face beaming at the opportunity to at last free himself from his guests' polite discord. "I would adore the opportunity! What do you play? I shall have one of my servants fetch an instrument of your choosing. Lord Armster speaks highly of your musical talents."

She looked imploringly at the white-haired lord, who ignored her silent plea for deliverance. "It is getting late and I grow tired. Perhaps another time-"

"Surely, you would not refuse our host's request?" The pale nobleman chided. Then, turning to their host, he said. "Have one of the servants bring a lute."

Within moments, a servant approached with the requested instrument and handed it to the lady. Like a caged songbird, she held the object in her hands, her eyes nervously observing the other guests. Though the red-haired lord adored music, her discomfort hindered his enthusiasm. Unimpressed, he slunk further back into the crowd, his tall form disappearing seamlessly amidst elaborately dressed men and women. Though he had distanced himself, he watched her delicate fingers dance across the instrument's strings. Her face remained expressionless despite the beautiful music echoing throughout the room.

"Gather round, everyone!" Lord Trantoul announced cheerfully, his voice summoning his guests' immediate attention. "Lady Armster shall play a bit for us-"

"Lady Rohesia." She corrected sharply; her eyes locking upon the other lord whilst she continued to play.

Lord Trantoul laughed, his cheerfulness contrasting the lady's dark mood. "Judging by the way he is looking at you, I doubt much longer!"

To this, the lady said nothing. She continued to play, the sound of her music eliciting polite applause from the crowd. Though she tried to avoid eye-contact with him, Lord Armster remained close by – his piercing eyes focused exclusively upon her. His endless staring seemed to unnerve her, for her concentration upon the instrument waned under its intensity. After a time, she paused in the middle of a song. The unexpected silence prompted the crowd to stir.

She tensed as Lord Armster lifted his head, the white curtains of his hair cascading against his face and back whilst he spoke. "What is wrong?" He asked, his voice straining when curious murmurs filtered amidst the onlookers. "I did not tell you to stop."

"I am done playing for tonight, milord." She replied. The curtness in her voice was unmistakable.

"You are done when I say." He snipped. "Continue playing."

When the crowd's surprised whisperings increased, Lord Trantoul bowed his head, the cheerfulness in his voice straining somewhat as he said. "If the lady is tired, I shall summon my chamber players-"

"No." Lord Armster held up a hand, his lips curling into a displeased sneer. "Do forgive her childishness, Lord Trantoul. The lady _will_ play."

"No, I will not." She glared at him. Her fury rose alongside his unwillingness to acknowledge it. When he continued to stare at her, she glanced at the lute in her hand and added with an air of finality. "I cannot play an instrument that is broken, milord."

"What are you talking about?" The white-haired lord glared back at her. His voice, now rising with impatience, caused whispers to sound throughout the crowd. "How dare you-"

Before he could continue, she lifted the lute and slammed it against the marble floor with a resounding bang. The sudden noise prompted a few people in the crowd to cry out in shock. Indifferent to their reactions, she tossed the broken instrument aside. Without a word, she fled to the terrace doors on the other side of the hall, her grey dress sweeping with her swift steps. Lord Armster glared after her. His face wore a mask of fury and embarrassment; his fine lips curling to a scowl so severe it seemed capable of freezing anyone unfortunate enough to see it. As he stared after her, a servant hurried to the scene and picked up the instrument's splintered remains.

Within moments of Lady Rohesia's departure, a woman with dark brown hair and eyes ran to the pale nobleman and grasped him by the arm. She was dressed in all the finery expected of a hostess. Her hair was tied back into an ornate bun wrapped with braids and pearls. Her elaborate sage green dress moved gracefully with her as she walked. Her beautiful, fair face looked up at her guest of honor with noticeable reverence.

Though her voice was soft, her disapproval cut through the silence like a dagger. "Lord Armster, how dare that uncouth wench rebuke you so? Come, milord, let me get you a drink of wine. Though she is ungrateful for your service to the church, I am not. Lord Trantoul and _especially_ me, are glad you graced us with your presence this evening."

Lord Armster gave the woman a reluctant smile. Despite his politeness, he hissed quietly under his breath. "I thank you for your kind words, Lady Trantoul, and regret this incident deeply. However, I ask that you please refrain from insulting Lady Rohesia. I shall deal with her later."

"Of course, milord." The woman smiled back, her voice quieting when she added. "I ask now, that you deal with _me_. I will not take no for an answer. Come."

Walter watched the pale nobleman give in to the woman's persistence. With a sigh, Lord Armster allowed her to lead him to the edge of the room. She ushered for him to take a seat at the banquet table and immediately sat down beside him.

It took a few moments for the guests to disperse and resume their chatter, though the red-haired lord could not help noticing tension remained. It hung in the air; stifling the party's formerly cordial atmosphere. He had expected to be somewhat entertained that evening, but not to such a dramatic extent. His lips lifted into a discreet smile. Lady Rohesia had captured his complete and undivided attention. Not wanting to waste time mulling about with the rest of the sheep, Walter slowly made his way across the room to the terrace doors.

He might not leave the party hungry, after all.

* * *

Walter stepped through the French doors and emerged onto the terrace. A gentle breeze brushed against his face and swept the loose coils of his crimson hair back. As he approached the stone railing, the moon's soft white light welcomed him. Though it was not yet full, its presence was somewhat comforting. Shadows partially veiled his face as he admired the serene nightscape. When he glanced over his shoulder and peered through the hall's large windows, longing briefly overcame his delight. As his eyes traced the groups of people mulling about, he wondered what they looked like in the daytime when the sun's rays reflected against their silk and satin clothing and kissed the hall's marble floor. He had only seen the sun in paintings and books. He remembered looking at images created by artists, noting the array of colors and shading they used, while secretly wishing he could see its forbidden beauty for himself.

She faced away from him, her long, honey colored hair waving carelessly behind her in the wind. The train of her grey dress swept around her like unfurling wings. Though he had not attempted to conceal his presence, she did not turn to greet him. She remained almost statue-like; her grey-blue eyes transfixed upon the rolling fields surrounding the manor. As she sat there, she hummed a sad little tune under her breath. It seemed to calm her, for the tension in her body released. He approached the railing and stood beside her – keeping a respectful distance to ensure she could not study him too closely. Moonlight threatened to betray his guise like a jilted lover, for its whiteness would reveal his unnaturally pale complexion.

His tall and imposing frame shadowed her smaller, delicate figure. Her contrasting nature and mournful silence intrigued him. Amidst the wind-swept strands of her golden hair, her milky throat beckoned his carnal desires. His fangs would pierce the tender flesh like needles through silk. He wondered if her fire would reappear in her last moments, for he loved nothing more than witnessing the valiant struggle between life and death.

When her eyes met his, he inhaled sharply at their coldness. The sight almost made him step back, as it was uncharacteristic of one so young. Sorrow reflected in every fiber of her being; its intensity weakening his hunger. When she spoke, her calm voice filtered through the darkness.

"I know what you are." She whispered.

"Do you?" Walter's smooth lips lifted into a practiced smile. Confidence masked his surprise.

Without hesitating, she continued. "Yes."

His brow furrowed, the amusement in his expression souring upon realizing her seriousness. He tossed his head, curtaining his annoyance behind the thick locks of his crimson hair. "What am I?"

"Dead." As suddenly as she looked at him, she returned her attention to the night.

She leaned forward, forcing her body precariously far over the terrace's stone railing. Dissatisfied, she hoisted herself on top of the stone and sat with her feet dangling on the opposite site. The skirt of her long dress swept around her; carried by the gentle wind. In the moonlight, the dress' ash-grey hue appeared ivory. As she gazed at the fields, Walter slid closer to her and rested his hands upon the railing. The wind caught his cloak and swept it to the side with a single effortless motion.

"I see it in your eyes," she added, her voice nearly lost in the wind. "Though you smile and court their attention, life has lost all meaning for you – as it has for me."

"I assure you, milady, I am very much alive." Walter countered, his confidence faltering when her mournful gaze returned to him.

She looked over her shoulder at him. As if able to see through him, her expression was torn between sadness and curiosity. "In body, perhaps, but not in spirit. I know it all too well, for we are alike in that respect. I did not think one of your caliber required their company."

Momentarily taken aback, he lifted his head, allowing the moonlight to spill across his face. His dark eyes flickered. Unwilling to accept his unforeseen vulnerability, he answered assuredly. "I require only entertainment. Surprisingly, I received my fill of it tonight from you, milady."

"I care not."

"If that were true, we would not be speaking."

She paused. "No one will dare be seen with me for the rest of the evening. Yet, you followed me here…"

"Merely a coincidence, milady."

"Nothing is a coincidence." She looked at him again, her fine lips pursing as they studied each other. "Have you come to chastise me for my rudeness?" Her tone remained skeptical despite seeming to know his answer.

"It is not my place to say how a woman should behave." The red-haired lord's lips formed a slight frown. He observed her cautiously, noting her perilous location at the edge of the railing. With a sigh, he wondered why trouble seemed to await him everywhere that night. "A fall from such a height as this would surely be…unpleasant."

The lady peered down at the ground below. "Indeed…" she murmured, seeming to agree with his observation. "If I were to fall, perhaps while trying to obtain a better view of the township surrounding the estate…my death would be inconsequential. Of course, Lord Trantoul and his guests would be aghast, but they would forget, in time."

Walter's brow furrowed. "And Lord Armster?" He asked expectantly.

After a silence that seemed to last an eternity, she shook her head. Her voice sounded flat. "What of him?" Without waiting for him to reply, she continued. "Are you not tired of these games; of pretending to be something you are not for the sake of their approval? I just…want to get away...from all of this."

Though he often feigned modesty, in truth, he craved the admiration of humans as much as their blood. He wondered why he frequently sought out human company when doing so had little benefit. When he grew tired of them, his castle provided a much-needed haven from the world. "At times, I grow weary." He replied. "I prefer it when guests come to me. My castle is my only sanctuary from what you call…_this_."

"You have a castle?" She asked, her eyes widening in surprise. Then, catching herself, she nodded as if in approval. "You must be richer than Lord Trantoul. Where is this castle you speak of?"

"Why, tis' not far, milady. It is called Eternal Night."

"Eternal Night? What a strange name for a castle."

He smiled patiently. "The trees of the forest surrounding it block out the sky to give the illusion of darkness. Tis' simple, really."

"Nothing is simple. If it were…I would not be here."

He watched her shift closer to the edge of the railing. Her silky hair floated around her in the wind. She breathed deeply, seeming to consider her fate as the party carried on; oblivious to them both. Music sounded within the hall from Lord Trantoul's chamber players. Despite the unwanted distraction, Walter's eyes remained locked upon her. The darkness of night seemed capable of suspending time, for neither he nor the woman moved.

"I suppose that is true." He replied. "Is my company so terrible that you must perch there like a pigeon waiting to take flight? Death will not grant you deliverance."

"What do you know of death?" She accused. Her lips curled into a frown the moment she noticed his unusually pallid face.

A tiny smile pressed across his lips. With cat-like stealth, he took slow and deliberate steps toward her. When he spoke, his voice held an air of superiority. "I know a great deal more about it than you, milady."

"How so?" She asked.

Her eyes widened when he stopped directly behind her and lifted the ends of his cloak. He wrapped the heavy fabric around her - shielding her from the wind while simultaneously blocking her vision. With a low, knowing chuckle, his face drew close to hers. The red-haired lord's cold breath skimmed her ear.

"Because, as you said…." He whispered, "_I am dead_."

The sound of her heartbeat pounded in his ears. His lips skimmed the tender flesh of her throat. The urge to consume her was overpowering. He wanted his patience to be rewarded with her blood – to taste her sweet nectar upon his tongue while she surrendered to his power.

To his disappointment, she remained unmoving. At first, he assumed she did not understand his veiled threat – yet his closeness did not trouble her, either. It was then that he understood she was _waiting_ for him. The unexpectedness of it alarmed him, for never had a human looked at the face of death as calmly as she. As he weighed her fate in his mind, he reflected on the profoundness of her despair.

Intrigue and anger simmered beneath his calm exterior when he realized _she_ was the one in control. Though she initially could not have known his true nature, she was content with using _him_ as means to her end. The possibility of relinquishing control to a human infuriated him. Unwilling to acquiesce, he lifted his cloak away and grasped her firmly on the arm. Before she could object, the red-haired lord lifted her delicate form off the railing in a single, swift motion.

When he set her down, she spun around to face him, her eyes wide with fury and surprise as she spoke. For the first time, her voice rose in anger. "Why?"

The woman's accusing tone was music to his ears, for it pleased him to deny what she assumed was hers to receive.

"Because it is my wish." The simplicity of his answer incensed her further.

She glared at him; harshness in her eyes revealing a capacity to feel something other than sadness. "It was not mine!" She cried, her eyes widening when the red-haired lord returned her rebuke with an amused smirk. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, her anger faded into familiar unhappiness. Her voice lowered to a whisper; demonstrating an awareness that their conversation was not entirely private. She looked up at him and studied the smooth, flawless skin of his face as the words left her lips. "You are truly not of this world. Your skin is pale and cold, yet you seem more human to me than all the lords and ladies gathered here tonight. Unlike them, you were the only one who sought me out…"

A low, amused chuckle vibrated from his throat as he looked down at her, his glossy hair appearing blood-red under the moonlight. "I assure you, I am quite the opposite."

"Were that true," She observed. "You would have ended my life or watched me fall."

"Do not mistake my action for mercy." The red-haired lord cautioned. A bright red glow flickered in his eyes. Despite his warning, the lady did not retreat. She continued looking at him, her lovely face transfixed by his dark gaze - wanting to know the thoughts veiled behind them. Sensing this, Walter released an exasperated huff. "You pretend to know what death is, despite your ignorance of it."

"Yes, I am ignorant of such matters." She admitted. "But not so ignorant as to ignore the fact that you wish to know as much about life as I about death. I can think of no other reason why you would be here, otherwise."

"Oh, I can think of many." Walter drew his lips back – revealing the sharp tips of his incisors.

A part of him wanted to end her then and there, for the truth in her words made his heart ache with unwanted vulnerability. He was not some play actor for her to study and unmask. However, he was not entirely resistant to the idea that life had lost much of its significance. He wanted to believe his unending search for pleasure and power gave him purpose. But to what end? Even he could not answer that, no matter how many centuries passed. Uncertain of her fate, he turned toward the nightscape and looked up at the stars as if they held the answer. The woman stood beside him. Thousands of stars twinkled faintly in the cryptic blackness above, their beauty only outmatched by the moon accompanying them. Though he could look upon them, they were forever out of reach – reminding him that despite his power, he was still insignificant.

With a sigh, the lady turned and looked up at him – her eyes reflecting both fear and wonderment as she said. "How I wish I could understand the night as you do. Maybe then, my life wouldn't feel so…hollow."

The red-haired lord traced her face, admiring her ephemeral beauty as he considered her words. His brow furrowed as he brought a gloved hand to his chin. His dark eyes narrowed alongside his pensive expression. Her willingness to remain in his company surprised him. Perhaps, youth made her foolish? He had killed enough humans to know the suggestion was insufficient. A fool would have screamed and fled. She remained quietly by his side, content to star gaze while he decided her fate.

Whereas humans could extinguish their pitiful lives instantly, he remained. Though he did not resent his existence, human entertainment promised a temporary escape from endless monotony. He wondered if the fair creature offered something new. If he truly wanted to know life, perhaps _not_ ending it immediately was the answer? He entertained the idea of turning her, but the lady's innocence fueled his curiosity. He feared he would tire of her too quickly if he acted in haste. Nevertheless, he was susceptible to changing his mind on a whim. If she bored him, he would simply turn or kill her – and his mood would largely determine which of the two was more appealing.

"Your life needn't be hollow, milady." His deep voice broke the night's peaceful silence. "If you wish to learn about the night, perhaps I will show you its secrets. Of course, you would have to refrain from throwing yourself into oblivion beforehand…"

Her eyes widened. "Why do you wish to teach me? Surely, scholars are more worthy of your knowledge than I-"

"Scholars are of no interest to me." He interrupted smoothly, his lips forming their familiar, practiced smile. "Unlike you, they have the sense to fear death."

She bowed her head. Strands of her long, blonde hair curtained her face. "Even though I am undeserving of it, I am grateful. Yet, I must ask your forgiveness…for I do not even know your name?"

The red-haired lord swept a bow before her. The coils of his lush red hair splayed across his shoulders in thick waves. His deep, resonant voice echoed through the darkness. "I am Walter Bernhard."

The lady curtsied in return, her lips parting when he took her delicate hand and pressed it to his lips. He noticed what may have been the barest thread of a smile appear on her face, though he could not tell for certain. She replied softly. "I am Arabella Rohesia, though I will soon adopt the surname Armster, if he has his way."

"Pleased to meet you, _Arabella_." The woman's name rolled smoothly off his lips. Though he had never heard it before, its fancifulness seemed fitting. Names like hers were practically expected as means of differentiating aristocracy from commoners. Now that he knew it, he could scarcely imagine her by anything less. Despite her effort to hide it, he detected her regret. "Lord Armster's accomplishments are well-known. Perhaps, his reputation _pales_ in light of his rather…unusual appearance."

"He is indeed pale." She remarked. Her expression softened somewhat. "I wish people would not judge him harshly for it. I know their whisperings and attentions trouble him greatly. The doctors call his condition albinism – whilst others call it monstrous."

"Do you think he is a monster?" Walter asked - trying not to sound assumptive.

The lady sighed. Her pale eyes stared into his for a long moment before she answered reluctantly. "Even if he is, it scarcely matters if our marriage is affirmed. Should it be, I will try to…see the good in him. I believe his intentions are honorable, albeit misguided."

The red-haired lord gave her a coy look, his smile turning into an amused smirk when he asked. "Do you think _I_ am a monster?"

Although her musings on Lord Armster were mildly interesting, he could not resist the opportunity to know what had prompted her to accept his unconventional offer. He might have thought her mad, had her candidness not surprised him utterly.

He half-expected her to say no, as most might to avoid causing injury to a creature of his power and unpredictability, but she refrained. "I do not know." She answered quietly. "I do not fear you as I fear Lord Armster, for unlike him, I know what you are. Perhaps I find the assurance in that comforting."

"Though you know what, you know not _who_." He replied, his voice darkening as they looked at one another – her smaller, delicate form disappearing in the intensity of his gaze. He straightened as his hand instinctively touched the stone secured around his neck. The object's oval-shaped black surface glinted in the moonlight.

He considered saying more, but a child's voice interrupted him. A little girl, likely no older than eight, hurried through the terrace doors. She wore a modest beige dress with a white smock over the front. The garment's high frilly neckline seemed to irritate her, for she tugged at it several times. Wavy chin-length locks of dark blonde hair framed her face. Her cheerful brown eyes focused on the noblewoman as she called gingerly.

"Lord Armster asked for you, milady."

The woman looked over her shoulder and nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Justine. You may go. I shall be along in a moment."

The child bowed her head – taking momentary notice of the red-haired lord's presence before obligation forced their parting. "Yes, milady."

The child ran back inside; her light steps echoing across the stone floor. Faintly, he heard her voice call over the crowd – her youth attesting her lack of concern for propriety. "_Lord Armster! I found Lady Rohesia talking to a red-haired gentleman! Milady will see you in a moment!_"

Upon the child's leave, the lady bowed her head and cast her eyes upon the floor. "I have been summoned. Though I regret my sudden departure, I must ask – when will we meet again, Lord Bernhard?"

Walter smiled in return, his voice never wavering in its confidence. "I am sure it will be soon, milady."

"How will I find you though?" Her head shot up in surprise.

"That is unnecessary," With a low chuckle, he flicked his hand and continued. "I am certain it shall be I who finds _you_, milady."

* * *

As he sought a discreet exit, the familiar sound of Lord Armster's voice drew his attention. When he peered around the corner, his dark eyes focused upon two men on the other side of the corridor. Lord Armster stood with his back to the wall, his long, pearly white hair partially veiling his face – but not enough to conceal the rage festering underneath his austere façade. The white-haired lord's wide eyes focused on Lord Cronqvist, whose hands balled into fists. Though they attempted to lower their voices, Walter's superior hearing enabled him to listen with little difficulty. It was not in his nature to care about human quarrels, but the crusader's uncharacteristic dread intrigued him.

He watched Lord Armster speak through gritted teeth, his face paling a shade whiter than Walter thought possible. "I will not return to the east." He snapped, the assurance in his voice faltering when the other lord huffed. "I care not for the church's wretched holy war – or _yours_. You have used my success to benefit your family's reputation for too long. I have fulfilled my obligations to the church, Lord Cronqvist."

"But you have not fulfilled your obligations to _me_," The other lord scoffed, his voice darkening as he stepped closer. "Lest you forget, I saved you from the pyre. The church would have burnt your accursed white body to a crisp had I not assured them your worth." The white-haired lord fell silent. Briefly, despair flashed across his smooth, white face as he leaned back against the wall in an effort to distance himself from the other nobleman. The coldness in Lord Cronqvist's voice shattered the other lord's resolve like glass. "You will do as I wish for as long as I wish. Should you disobey, I will ensure you are branded a heretic and condemned. Given your unusual appearance, it would be easy to convince the church. I would also ensure the church seized your lands and assets; leaving your family destitute."

"Regretfully, I am the last Armster. Your threat is meaningless." The pale nobleman returned the man's threat with a sardonic grin. "As God decrees, I needn't care about physical rewards or punishments on this earth – even though the church does."

Unimpressed, Lord Cronqvist shrugged. After giving the other lord a tiny smile, his voice darkened. "Perhaps, but I am certain other members of your company are not so…fortunate. The church has been _very_ generous. It would be a shame if such generosity were to be withdrawn. Though you are prepared to suffer, I doubt your company is as willing. If there is one thing the church excels at, it is ensuring those who oppose their will understand the consequences. Though respect and honor are difficult to attain they are also, regrettably, short-lived."

"Indeed." The white-haired lord snipped. A tiny, sardonic grin creased the corners of his lips. "I find your mention of heresy rather…problematic…"

"And why is that?" Lord Cronqvist asked, though his tone was more-so of challenge than question.

"Why, I heard you are studying _alchemy_ and intend to have your son tutored in the practice. You above all know the church does not take kindly to the secret arts. Perchance, I happened to mention this inconvenient rumor to the bishop? I am certain he would be most…displeased."

Lord Cronqvist gave the man a scathing glare, his lips curling as he replied confidently. "Perchance you did. Who do you think the bishop will find more trustworthy? A pale, white-haired _monster_ or one of his most devout followers? My family has funded the church's causes for decades. Forgiveness is easily bought, Lord Armster."

The white-haired lord glared at him hatefully, his voice tensing. "My nightmares are worsening. The things I have done in the name of God prove I am no better than the devil-"

"They are heathens!" Lord Cronqvist snapped. "They deserve to die for betraying God's love!" When the other lord gave him an incredulous look, Lord Cronqvist reached into the pocket of his robe. The man withdrew three small glass vials containing a blackish-blue liquid. Without waiting for Lord Armster to accept them, he grabbed the man's hand and shoved the objects into his palm. His voice quietened. "These were originally created by Sir Gandolfi. They are experimental but should suffice. Only a quarter of a vial is needed but it will help you sleep." When Lord Armster said nothing, he sighed and added. "You are not the only one who has nightmares. God will reward you when the time comes, though you must find happiness in other aspects of your life. You have more than enough wealth and influence to find a lady of good breeding…_besides_ Lady Rohesia."

The white-haired lord huffed, his eyes stabbing the other man like daggers. "She _will_ accept me."

Lord Cronqvist rolled his eyes. "A woman like her needs to be tamed, first. Find a way to give her something she wants – then, perhaps, she will be more receptive to your advances. Women always want _something_ – though in her case, it may not be you, I'm afraid."

Without replying, the white-haired lord shoved the other nobleman aside and stormed out of sight.

* * *

The party now concluded; Walter emerged into the familiar darkness of night. He withdrew a breath, taking in the crisp, refreshing air. It was the first time in a while that he left an event empty-handed.

He was about to begin the trek back to his domain when he sighted Lady Rohesia standing next to a black carriage. A boy, likely sixteen or seventeen, opened the door to admit her inside it.

Lord Armster extended his hand. She reluctantly accepted; her lips curling in displeasure as he helped her inside.

Before departing, the pale nobleman walked to the two silver horses harnessed to the front. His voice, soft and whispering, gently addressed the creature as he stroked its muzzle. The beast emitted a low wicker in response whilst its finely pointed ears swiveled forward. He gave the horse's sleek neck a gentle pat, his lips lifting into a small smile when the beast's soft muzzle brushed against his cheek.

Then, turning to the boy, Lord Armster asked reproachfully. "When was the last time you gave them some water? I can tell they are in need of it."

With a nervous bow, the youth replied. "Not since our arrival, milord. The beasts shall have to wait until we return."

The pale nobleman backhanded him viciously across the face, his lips forming a scowl as he snapped. "Stupid fool! They are exhausted and should have been provided for. You worked the poor creatures too hard."

The boy removed his hat and bowed his head. "It shall not happen again, milord." Gasping sharply, he covered his throbbing cheek.

"For your sake, it better not." Without looking at the youth again, Lord Armster climbed into the carriage and slammed the door shut.

A tiny smile creased the red-haired lord's lips when he saw the lady's face appear in the carriage window. Her grey-blue eyes stared back at him as the carriage began to move away. Within moments, she disappeared into the surrounding darkness.

Walter's smile broadened.

A new game was about to begin.


	2. Overture

**Author's Note: **I decided to split some chapters in half for easier reading and update twice a month instead of once a month. I have no intention of letting this story become a 'dead fic.' Huge thanks go to those reading this as well as those who have favorited/followed.

Your support means a lot and I appreciate feedback. If you like what you've read so far, please review!

**Chapter 2 **

Walter lifted his chin from his hand; his dark eyes lazily blinking as dull silence threatened to overwhelm him. He surveyed the empty room; observing its massive dome ceiling and elaborate stone buttresses. The room was dimly lit, except for the two large gold candelabras positioned on either side of the ornate throne on which he sat. He shifted uncomfortably, stretching his legs out before tucking them closer once again. His gloved fingers drummed irritably against the chair's elaborate arm. He wondered if the man would reach his tower that evening. He had patiently waited for the human for what felt like centuries, even though it was only a few hours. Nevertheless, he realized his ability to sense the human's presence in his castle suddenly ceased. In most circumstances, it only meant one thing: they were dead.

There had been another instance when he mistook a human for dead, only to find the man scouring the waterways beneath the castle. He could never uncover why his ability to sense that human stopped, though it mattered little in the end. When he had entered the room with massive swinging axe traps, the man was so stunned by his abrupt appearance that he had not noticed an axe swinging his direction until his body was carved in two. Since that incident, the red-haired lord refrained from checking on his guest's whereabouts. He did not want to spoil the 'reward' of meeting him if they were skilled enough to survive.

None were.

His most recent guest had seemed promising. A former jouster and skilled military commander, the human seemed ripe for the challenge of defeating him. He had taken the man's son and left a vaguely worded letter behind. In the letter, he instructed that if the man desired his son back, he would be returned if he defeated _the one beloved by the night_. Of course, Walter promptly disposed of the kicking and screaming young fool almost as soon as he took him as collateral. Most times, he drained his captive dry and threw the corpse somewhere for his creatures to devour. Such was the case for the man's son, whose jugular he ripped apart until warm, luscious blood flowed down his throat. The youth was not worthy of eternity, thus the red-haired lord snuffed out his life like a candle. He enjoyed that metaphor for it seemed far more eloquent than the violent, brutal end they endured when he grew weary of them.

He sighed as he rose from the throne and floated across the circular room. His already unusually tall stature was enhanced by the additional gap between his boots and the floor. As he floated leisurely along, he flicked his cloak back, his eyes narrowing whilst he reflected upon the vast emptiness surrounding him. The only sound greeting him was the wind, which battered and lashed the tower unrelentingly. With a languid wave, the throne room door swung open. As he drifted outside, his long, black cloak fluttered behind him. His lips formed a displeased scowl. Darkness had barely just set beyond the border of his forest, and his latest game already drew to a premature end. Briefly, he considered embarking on a hunt. Whereas human nobles sought foxes, he sought blood. Such a notion dissatisfied him though, for he was bored of its effortlessness.

Then, remembering Lady Rohesia, a tiny, sardonic grin creased the corners of his lips. He had almost forgotten all about her, until boredom reminded him of his promise. With a low, amused chuckle, he surveyed the nightscape – eager to find the creature of his attention. He remembered Lord Trantoul mentioning she and Lord Armster dwelled in a village called Creightel. Such a wretchedly tiny hamlet had been of no interest to him until her presence obliged him to search it out. Beyond the safe confines of his forest, the night was still young – and he fully expected her to be the kind of human who preferred to retire later. Despite not having been to Creightel before, his keen sense of direction and eagerness would reveal her to him soon enough. Thus, with a sweeping wave of the hand, he focused his thoughts on the sky. Within moments, he transformed into a large bat. His deep crimson fur, appearing blood-red in the moonlight, revealed his presence within the dark. His large, finely tipped ears swiveled to and fro as he acquired his bearings and soared into the air. His small, dark eyes scanned the earth beneath him, demanding it to yield her presence as he flew southward.

He would find her…and when he did, she would be _his_.

* * *

Walter hid himself within the trees. He had not planned for the pale lord to accompany her. Though the man posed no real threat, his interest primarily lay in the woman accompanying him. He recognized her instantly, for she wore the same sad expression he remembered from that night. Her long, straight blonde hair floated gracefully behind her. He was in no hurry to interrupt. Centuries of existence taught him patience. He determined that if the lord and his lady parted company, he would find her soon enough. He could not guarantee she would not warn the lord and his guards. Discretion was an ally he would not betray easily.

As he watched, his fascination with the white-haired lord grew, though he knew not why. The man's stunning appearance called to his baser instincts. A part of him wanted to claim the pale human and preserve such beauty for eternity. He imagined Lord Armster would make a fetching immortal. He would break the man's icy façade like one cracking a shell to acquire the pearl within it. Unlike humans, he was not bound by social expectations regarding who or how many he chose to bed. Man or woman – sometimes both at the same time – had pleasured him. Of course, he usually killed them afterward when his appetite was strongest. He loved nothing more than biting into their flesh after he finished copulating. There was something beautiful in the way their nakedness writhed beneath him as he took their life. Sometimes, he consumed their blood so gently they died asleep in his embrace. He was uncertain which option was more fitting of Lord Armster.

"Walk with me." The white-haired lord said. The woman reluctantly followed suit, her head lowered so the curtains of her long hair veiled the sides of her face. When she said nothing, the pale nobleman hesitated. His formerly sharp tone softened somewhat. "If you would be so kind, I would appreciate your company, milady."

"As you wish." She continued to avoid looking at him, her eyes locked upon the ground as they set forth.

The full moon hung low in the sky. Its calm, white light illuminated the estate's open fields. His silver garments reflected its light, giving him a strange, unknowable aura. Despite the beauty surrounding them, the crusader's focus remained exclusively upon the lady. He looked over his shoulder at her. After an uneasy silence, he stopped and offered her his arm.

Walter chortled at the attempt, for it was plain to him that the woman wanted little to do with the nobleman. Not even the lord's unusual attractiveness drew her interest. Her rebuke merely increased his entertainment, though he could not fault the man for trying.

"You needn't follow," Lord Armster began. Then, correcting himself once again, he shook his head and continued. "Unless you wish to, of course."

After hesitating a moment, she accepted and walked alongside him. A small, cautious smile creased the corners of the man's lips the moment she touched him.

Walter shook his head – as annoyed by the man as she was. The woman's face remained unchanged, as if the person accompanying her was merely a statue with the capacity to move and speak.

Her reaction had not gone unnoticed by the crusader, who released a heavy sigh before continuing coyly. "I am bound for the east a fortnight from hence. Would you…perchance see me off, milady? I would prefer the last thing I see of home to be you." He ran a hand through the thick locks of his long, straight white hair. "I have given some thought to what happened as well."

"Is that so?" She asked – his softness at last catching her attention.

"I only wanted them to hear your music. It was not my intention to upset you, Arabella." When she said nothing, he gave her an apologetic look. The familiar, proud coldness returned to his voice. "Your father recently agreed to send me your dowry."

"He did?" Her eyes widened when he nodded in confirmation. After drawing a trembling breath, her voice adopted a hint of disdain. "I had no idea you asked him. I thought-"

"He would never accept me?" His cold, scornful laughter filled the air. When she gave him an apathetic look, he added. "My victories in the east are difficult to overlook. Lord Rohesia is aware that our marriage guarantees him the bishop's ear. Marriage is not about love; it is about power."

The woman released her hold. In surprise he stopped, his eyes widening when her despondency became clear. Realizing his mistake, he reached out and touched her face. The woman shrank back as if his touch was acid upon her flesh.

"I…did not mean that." He whispered, the coldness in his voice faltering as suddenly as it had returned. "Perhaps, my time in the east has changed me more than I realize."

For the first time, gentleness appeared in her eyes. After hesitating a moment, she took his hand in hers. "I heard you screaming in your sleep last night. I left my chamber to seek you out but your servants informed me it was only a nightmare."

The white-haired lord gave her an apologetic look. "I had no idea you heard me; forgive me for troubling you. Death and suffering follow me in my dreams." Then, pausing a moment, he continued shrewdly. "If you were to come to my chamber, perhaps I would know more than that…"

"Surely, there are other women who are more than willing to give you the love you seek?" She asked. Her pale eyes froze him in place, their iciness shattering his tenderness. "Lady Trantoul practically worships you – as do many others. I have also heard that the women of the east are much more liberal when it comes to matters of _love_." A small, sardonic grin appeared upon her face.

"I know not what you mean." He replied, maintaining his calm despite the betrayal of the redness in his cheeks. With a huff, he countered boldly. "I have no want of them, for they are not _you_, milady. The only thing I want is you."

"The only _thing_." Her tongue raked the word '_thing'_ in subtle protest. "Well, it seems you have at last obtained me."

"Please do not misinterpret my intentions." He countered, his desperation growing when she turned away once again. "Though I long to be by your side one day, duty binds me to the east. Tell me though, what do you desire whilst I am absent? There is nothing I will not give you, if only to ensure your happiness."

After a moment's pause, she turned round to face him again. "There is one thing," She replied. "I wish to visit Lord Bernhard and study astronomy."

"What?" The white-haired lord hissed, his eyes widening. "Perhaps, if you asked for an instructor for needlepoint, music, or…_anything else_, I would consider-"

"I thought you wanted to ensure my happiness?" She countered, her eyes narrowing. "Forgive me for not realizing your offer had caveats, _Zaviean_."

"The idea of you venturing to his castle alone is inappropriate. Word of this would surely spread through the court faster than wildfire-"

"Then allow me to take Justine occasionally. Not as many would question it if a child were present."

"Absolutely not-"

"Then I suppose, we have nothing further to discuss." She turned away from him, her lips forming a scowl. With a sigh, she began her trek back to the manor. Wisps of her long, golden hair floated behind her as she retreated without him.

The white-haired lord extended his hand in objection; the severity in his eyes lifting the moment she made her disappointment known. "If it will please you…perhaps we can agree to something. You have been quite melancholy as of late."

"How kind of you to notice." She replied, the exasperated disappointment in her voice evident.

He bowed his head, his dark blue eyes locking with hers. His voice softened as he slowly approached. "I noticed long before Lord Trantoul's party. I…thought you wanted to be alone…"

"I already am." She looked at him sadly, her lips forming a frown as the crusader took her hand in his and stepped in front of her.

"No." Her lips parted, as if only then realizing he was capable of it. Very gently, he brushed her hair away from her face. She stood before him uncertainly, her gaze never leaving his as he continued. "If you marry me, I will ensure you never feel that way again."

She tried to smile but her lips refused to move. Instead, she took his arm and walked with him back to the manor. As they made their way along the path, the pale nobleman looked to her for an answer. When she gave him none, his formerly kind mood was consumed by coldness. His deep blue eyes possessed a will to destroy her. However, he held his calm, and forced the emotions to retreat beneath his austere expression. Walter sensed the woman was vaguely aware of her lord's displeasure, for she avoided confronting him with her desired rejection. Instead, she tried to look only at the moon, as if its presence could eliminate his suggestion from her thoughts.

They had barely begun the journey, when a servant rode toward them on a silver horse. Walter noticed the man hit the horse's rump with a cowhide whip, causing the beast to whinny in protest. Lord Armster suddenly stopped in place, his eyes narrowing as the young man dismounted and grasped the creature firmly by the bridle. With a confident bow, the attendant led the horse to the waiting lord. Lady Rohesia released a shaking breath - content to step quietly into the background as soon as the man's attention shifted.

Ignorant of the lord's foul mood, the young man began. "Your horse, milord. I think she still requires work, for she gave me a bit of trouble on my way here. The stubborn beast is no better than the heathens that breed them."

With barely a glance at the youth, the white-haired lord slowly approached the horse. As he scanned it from head to hoof, his lips formed a frown. Without speaking, he walked beside the equine and ran his hand across the horse's stomach.

Then, at last turning to the young man, he hissed. "Is that so? She is a good mare. I have never had trouble handling her. Let me see your whip." After hesitating a moment, the youth placed the object into the lord's waiting hand. Lord Armster surveyed it a moment. "The issue is not the horse – it is you."

"What do you mean, milord?" The youth asked, the tension in his voice rising as the lord's gauntlet enclosed tightly around the whip.

With a small, sardonic grin, the white-haired nobleman replied. "Allow me to demonstrate."

The pale lord drew his arm back and whipped the man across the cheek. His face remained a mask of anger as he delivered blow after blow upon the young man's smaller frame. The youth screamed and fell backward onto the ground. As the pale lord mercilessly beat him, he screamed and cried out for mercy. The stable boy attempted to curl into a ball and shield his face with his arms. Red welts appeared on his face, whilst faint droplets of crimson blood seeped through his shirt's white sleeves.

Moments after Lord Armster struck the boy down, the lady screamed and grabbed the lord by the arm, her voice crying out as she attempted to wrench him back. "Zaviean, the boy didn't mean to offend you! Stop this at once!"

As if impervious to her pleas, the pale lord continued whipping the youth. His voice, once calm, now trembled. "The little wretch needs to be taught a lesson! No one harms my horses –ever!" Then, turning his attention to the cowering youth, he snapped. "She is carrying a foal, idiot! If I see you, or anyone else whip my horses again, it will be the last thing you do. Understood?"

"Yes, milord!" The youth sobbed, his voice quavering under the man's piercing stare. When the white-haired lord at last relented, he scrambled to his feet and backed away – nursing the gash on cheek. His eyes looked up at the taller man fearfully.

Then, as if nothing had occurred, Lord Armster turned away. His voice regained its former calm. "Leave me."

The youth took off across the field as soon as the words left his master's lips. The lady silently watched the stable boy's departure, her grey-blue eyes softening at the sight of his pain. Then, turning her attention back to the white-haired nobleman, she scolded. "You did not need to beat him!"

"He did not need to whip my horse." Lord Armster snipped. He glared back at her with equal disgust. With a huff, he flicked aside strands of his long, white hair. The nobleman's spheres pierced the darkness as if able to command it.

With a sigh, the lady shook her head. "I am not defending his actions. However, I will not condone yours, either."

Her visible disappointment prompted the white-haired lord to hesitate. After drawing a trembling breath, he gently took the equine's bridle and led the creature to her. The mare followed his patient coaching, her graceful hooves lightly thumping across the earth. Lord Armster ran his hand down the mare's muzzle, his eyes softening when she whickered gently in response. Moonlight reflected off her glossy silver coat; making her seem almost illusionary in the darkness. Her form, much smaller than the work horses commonly found and bred in the region, boasted rippling muscles and a graceful sloping back. Wisps of silky grey-white hair curtained her sleek neck and spilled across her forehead.

Lord Armster's gleaming silver robes and armor perfectly matched the equine in both beauty and grace. Yet, severity still haunted his gaze when he looked at the lady standing beside him. She gently stroked the beast's soft muzzle, smiling to herself when its lips brushed across her palm in search of a treat.

"I am sorry, but I do not have anything for you." She chuckled, her voice lightening somewhat in the mare's presence. She glanced at Lord Armster, noticing his expression soften whilst she observed. "This mare is your favorite, isn't she? She clearly adores you, milord."

"They are all my favorite." He replied, his voice losing some of its coldness. "But perhaps she is a little more so. I ask that you not to mention this to the others, for each one thinks I like them best."

"I promise not to."

When her smile broadened, Walter noticed the man bow modestly; hiding the color in his cheeks behind the wispy strands of his ivory hair.

Lord Armster offered her his hand. "Let us return home. I will have a servant bring us tea. We can sit in the solar room and you can explain why you wish to see that Lord Bernhard. I do not understand why he interests you so; he is far too proud for my liking."

The lady shook her head. She turned away from him, her voice regaining its former reserve. "I wish to go for a walk…alone, milord. After that, I would like to retire to my chamber to study."

Lord Armster's smile fell away into a somber frown. He withdrew his hand, turned to his horse, and mounted it swiftly. As he sat upon the equine's back, he glared down at her. "Of course." He answered, his voice once again acquiring its familiar coldness. When she stared up at his pale form, he gave her a disapproving look. "Be careful after nightfall, milady. I expect you to come to me tomorrow. We shall discuss the matter then."

"I must attend mass tomorrow." She replied. "I shan't be able to-"

His piercing eyes never left hers. "Should you disappoint me, I may suddenly decline your request. Do keep that in mind."

The woman nodded silently. Satisfied by her acquiescence, the white-haired lord bowed his head. As he gently turned his horse toward the manor, the sound of her voice gave him pause. He looked over his shoulder at her, his sapphire eyes focusing upon her whilst she said. "Please ensure the stable boy you injured is tended to, milord. I would be most grateful."

The nobleman stared at her a moment, the coldness in his gaze refusing to lift despite her concern. He gave her a curt nod. "As you wish – though I shall tend to my mare, first."

Without looking at her again, he urged the equine into a trot and headed in the direction of the stables. The lady's eyes followed him until the nobleman and equine's silvery forms vanished into the night. Now alone, she gave the moon a mournful glance and covered her fair face with her hands. As if in effort to calm herself, she hummed the same little tune he remembered hearing the night they met. The song drifted forlornly through the darkness.

Her sorrowful gesture prompted him to leave his concealment in the trees. She stood like a ewe that had wandered from its herd. Unlike the simplistic creature though, her sad truthfulness promised something far more exciting. Yet, he could not entirely eliminate Lord Armster from his thoughts. The man's icy fury set him apart from other warriors who had previously failed to impress. He hoped the man's dauntless reputation would not disappoint.

Walter slowly approached, his boots making not a sound. His low, resonant voice caused the woman to jump in surprise. "Good evening, milady." When she stared back at him in astonishment, he swept a deep bow before her, his thick scarlet hair falling across his perfectly sculpted shoulders and back. Upon straightening, he gave her a wry smile. "As promised, I have found you. I hope I am not interrupting?"

She shook her head, her eyes widening at his sudden appearance. "Lord Bernhard - I was not expecting you!"

"I thought you might be in want of a pleasant surprise, for a change." His dark eyes glinted.

"I did not say your sudden appearance was _pleasant_." She replied, the harshness in her voice revealing her offence at his assumption. Then, regretting her terseness, she sighed. "I am glad you are here, even though I am surprised you found me so soon."

"Do not be." He replied confidently. "A lady such as yourself is difficult to overlook. Though, you did not tell me you wished to study astronomy?"

Catching the fact he had overheard much of her conversation with the white-haired lord, she gave him a disapproving – but somewhat amused – look. "I had to give Lord Armster a reason for seeing you. Please forgive my imprudence."

"Already forgotten." He replied, flicking his clock back whilst he continued. "My castle has a rather large laboratory and telescope that are perfect for studying astronomy, should you be so inclined."

"Why do you have a laboratory?" She raised an eyebrow. Her fine lips pursed in confusion.

"It has had one far longer than I can remember." He replied, dismissing her question with the flick of his hand as if the answer was obvious. He lifted his head, his dark spheres glinting with amused interest. "Science and discovery are worthy pursuits. You could say…I dabbled in such things before other interests caught my attention."

She edged closer to him. The skirt of her grey dress swept gracefully behind her when she moved. Her eyes remained transfixed upon the red-haired lord's elegant, yet daunting, appearance. His deceptively flawless countenance, unchanged by the passage of time, seemed to fill her with dread and wonderment.

After considering him a moment, she at last replied. "What do you want of me, Lord Bernhard?"

Walter emitted a low, delighted chuckle. Well aware that his taller stature often proved intimidating, his lips lifted into a polite smile. Had he wanted her to fear him, his actions would not have been so congenial. Her reluctance won his attention, for he disliked over-eagerness.

Walter gave her an unconcerned look as if his presence was quite ordinary. His delighted tone gave her no indication that his intent was anything except honorable. "Why, the pleasure of your company, of course." When she continued to look at him, he whispered darkly. "If I had wanted to hurt you, I would have done it by now. However, that would not be very gentlemanly of me, would it?"

"I would think not." At last, the tension in her voice eased somewhat. She bowed her head approvingly, her face momentarily concealed by her long hair. When she straightened, she brushed back the thick locks, briefly revealing her smooth, graceful neck. The moonlight shone upon the supple flesh – eager to tempt him with its alluring taste.

The red-haired lord quickly shifted his attention. "Though I would love to stand outside with you all evening, my castle is a far better place for conversation – that is, if you will accompany me?"

"Surely it is far from here, milord?" She asked.

Walter shook his head. "Do not worry; I shall take you there on my horse. Alas, he is not the fanciful breed your lord adores but I think you will approve. You have an affinity for them, do you not?"

"Yes, very much." She nodded politely; her interest piquing upon hearing his suggestion.

The red-haired lord lightly brushed his gloved hand across the stone around his neck. In response, a loud whinny shattered the night's peaceful silence. Hoof beats sounded across the ground in the distance – growing louder and faster as it neared. The woman released a gasp when the creature emerged through the cloaking shadows. A large bay colored stallion galloped toward them; its black mane and tail flagged in the wind. The moon gave its coat an unsettling dark red sheen. The equine's swiftness and power captured her interest utterly. She stared in amazement as its lithe form slowed to a graceful canter. Like most things, Walter loved to impress – and as expected, his companion delivered on all fronts.

As soon as the creature slowed to a halt, she stepped forward and stroked its smooth, muscular neck. It lowered its muzzle, catching her scent in its nostrils before it snorted in acknowledgement. The woman's delight pleased him, even though she knew not that his equine's pedigree was far different than most humans could comprehend.

"He is very beautiful." She observed. "What is his name?"

Humans had a peculiar habit of naming everything they owned, no matter how insignificant. Such ridiculousness never ceased to entertain him. He decided to indulge her, if only to show that he was not devoid of irrational attachment.

With a proud huff, he ushered grandly to the beast before her, the name leaving his lips with nary a thought. "_Enoch_."

Walter mounted the creature. Atop its back, his large, imposing frame eclipsed the moon. With an assuring smile, he extended his hand to her. The lady looked at it a moment, then diverted her gaze to his smirking face. Unimpressed by the gracious gesture, she waved his hand away. Like a bird hopping upon a perch, she lifted herself up and sat down on the saddle in front of him. In accordance with propriety, she positioned herself sideways so that her feet hung over the creature's left shoulder. The red-haired lord returned her imprudence with an impatient huff. Like a rabbit caught in a snare, she unknowingly trapped herself within his grasp. He could snap her neck with barely the flick of a hand. Nevertheless, her daring rejection had the opposite effect she expected – for he was now even _more_ interested in seeing what else she was capable of.

Beneath the windswept locks of her golden hair, her neck tantalized him. Walter looked away; refusing to be tempted so easily. He was more than capable of self-restraint, contrary to portrayals of his kind in books and art. Despite this, he could not deny that her blood still called to his baser instincts like a hellish siren. He gave the creature a sharp nudge with his heels. With a loud whinny, the beast took off at a gallop across the fields. The creature's massive form moved through the night like it was second nature. It required no guidance on his part, for it would instinctively return to where his power was greatest.

_Eternal Night_.


	3. Exposition

**Chapter 3**

After a short time, large rocky terrain surrounded them. Tall pine trees framed the path and grew denser as they went. Like the bars of a cage, the trees enclosed around them, their large, extending branches partially shrouding the star-dotted sky. The lady's eyes widened as an ominous red sea slowly eclipsed the moon's former whiteness. All at once, an unsettling red hue spilled across the road and foliage. The change was so subtle that if one did not know better, they would simply assume it was a figment of their imagination. The lady's eyes remained locked upon the moon's grim presence in fascination. Without warning, a bright white light flashed - momentarily blinding them both.

She cried out in surprise; her voice defying the forest's suffocating darkness. "What was that?"

Walter returned her question with a shrewd smirk. He chuckled to himself, remembering that she was unaware of its implication. As the creature carried them onward, he bent forward and whispered in her ear. "That, milady, signifies we are now within my realm. Never-ending darkness protects my domain. Should anyone venture beyond my border, the night shall welcome them instead of the sun."

"The way you have overcome your aversion of it is so inspiring!"

Walter's eyes narrowed, spiting her mocking tone. "Indeed."

"What if someone finds it by accident?" She looked over her shoulder at his displeased expression; her voice nearly lost in the sound of the beast's pounding hooves.

"Most do not come here by _accident_." A red flicker appeared within his dark spheres, its brevity making her tense whilst he added. "Those who do, end up staying. Permanently."

His warning tone silenced her. She returned her attention to the path ahead, a gasp fleeing her lips as a massive stone castle slowly emerged through the darkness. Its magnificent presence greeted them like a ship through the fog. The sight of it alone never failed to impress him; no matter how many centuries passed. It existed long before memory, perhaps even before time itself – or so his somewhat whimsical imagination decided. Eternal Night was his sanctuary from the world and the only place he could truly exist uninhibited. He watched her eyes flit upward; following the many towers reaching up into the darkness as if able to touch the heavens.

Unlike the Tower of Babel, his castle's incredible architecture and height existed in defiance of God. Secretly, he challenged God to destroy it; believing not even the highest almighty was capable. His dark eyes drank every second of her awed expression, relishing her unquestioned admiration of the physical representation of his authority. Like a spectator to his grandeur, the full red moon illuminated the massive structure's magnificent spires and walls. As they neared, a swarm of bats departed the forest's refuge and ascended into the sky – their beating wings and chirps filling the air until they disappeared within the starry abyss. His obsession with grandiosity compelled him to command their leave, for not even the smallest detail quenched his thirst for admiration.

When the creature slowed to a halt before the retracted drawbridge, Walter hopped off its back and snapped his fingers. In accordance with his command, the chains securing the bridge clinked to life like a prisoner's shackles. The heavy wooden barricade slammed to the ground with an earthshattering bang; causing the woman to flinch. Clouds of dust flew into the air; momentarily encompassing him in its haze until it was called away by the wind. Like a secret revealed for her eyes alone, she peered at the castle's arched entryway. The entrance was dimly lit by torches – their haunting light half-shadowing the red-haired lord's content smirk. Like a leviathan's gaping maw, the castle sought to devour her within its immensity.

After giving her a moment to take in the sight of it, he turned to face her, his dark spheres glinting in the darkness. No man could have possibly built such a massive structure. Its existence alone proved his superiority over their worthless lives. "What do you think of it, milady?"

Her cold reply made the red-haired lord's smirk abruptly vanish. "I was not expecting much, but your castle is quite something."

Walter huffed in response, his eyes flickering a shade of red as she dismounted and turned to the beast. She gave the creature a gentle pat on the neck, her delicate hand stroking its smooth, glossy coat before she looked over her shoulder at him. Ignoring his displeasure, she asked. "Where are your stables and servants, Lord Bernhard? No one has come to take his bridle."

"I have no need of them." With a wry look, his attention diverted to the equine. He gave the creature a dismissive wave of the hand, his low, assertive voice commanding the beast's obedience. "Away!"

The creature neighed in acknowledgement, its dark, gleaming eyes focusing upon him until it turned round and reared up on its haunches. The lady jumped back, nearly falling over, her eyes widening as a circular black shroud appeared in midair a few feet away. With a heavy snort, the beast galloped toward the blackness and hurtled its large frame directly into it – vanishing from sight as if its existence was merely imaginary.

The lady stared into the darkness; her mouth agape until she dare ask. "Where did he go?"

Walter shrugged, no longer interested in indulging her curiosity. "To another plane of existence, I suppose. It matters not."

Then, waving for her to come along, he strode ahead toward the lowered drawbridge. Though she did not immediately follow, he paid her no mind. His long black cloak swished alongside his smooth, leisurely steps. Upon crossing the entranceways' threshold, beautiful, smooth stone tiles covered the worn earth. The castle's dim, warm light welcomed him as he arrived within its massive foyer. Without a backward glance, he translocated to the balcony directly across from the castle's arched entryway. He stood proudly behind the balustrade, his tall form making its ornate stone railing seem insignificant in his presence. The curved staircases on either side of the balcony enhanced its stateliness. The front of the balcony on which he stood revealed five arched alcoves for his visitors' perusal. Stone pedestals displaying large, individually colored spheres were presented within each of its recesses. Left undisturbed for centuries, thick cobwebs covered the objects. He had ensured their existence was impossible to overlook by acquiring natural minerals in a variety of colors – cinnabar, purple quartz, sodalite, jade, and citrine.

With a proud huff, he placed his hands on his hips and stared down at the entryway like a king surveying his subjects. He always had been one for spectacle when it came to guests. It had been a _very_ long time since he revealed himself to a visitor, and he was determined to ensure his greatness was not unappreciated.

The moment he saw her walk through the arched entranceway, he lifted his hand and ushered for her attention. "Welcome, Lady Rohesia. How wonderful of you to join me tonight. Would you care for a drink? Wine, perhaps?"

"No thank you, milord." Her eyes flitted from him to her surroundings. With a soft chuckle, she continued. "I wish Lord Armster was this lax about his manor's cleanliness."

Walter's smile abruptly dissipated. "Why, whatever do you mean, milady?" he asked, his voice lowering. Though he posed it as a question, his eyes tinted a brilliant shade of red. He watched her approach the spheres displayed within the balcony's alcoves. She reached out and brushed her hands across the smooth, jade surface of one of them.

Then, looking up at his displeased expression, she remarked indifferently. "Are you certain you require no servants? These could use a good dusting, Lord Benhard." Her lips formed a somewhat amused smile. "Please do not take offence, milord. I like it because you care not about such trivial things."

The red-haired lord wanted to smile but displeasure still inhibited his mood. Despite her sharp tongue, he appreciated her candidness. It was not often humans spoke the truth as directly as she. He reminded himself that he chose her specifically because she was unlike the countless other mortals who offered only flattery, rather than integrity. Thus, he permitted her small defiance, if only to indulge her desire for liberation. Nevertheless, his response ensured she would receive no gratification.

"How kind of you, milady." He replied, giving her a low, sweeping bow before ushering to the arched doorway on her right. "I shall take you to my theatre. As you seem to enjoy dramatics, perhaps it will please you."

"For one who enjoys being the center of attention, I could not possibly refuse."

Unimpressed, though somewhat amused by her remark, he descended the balcony steps and led her through the door. He deliberately maintained a swift pace to force her to hurry after him. To his irritation, she followed calmly, her eyes observing her surroundings as he drew her deeper within the castle's depths. As they passed through a large corridor, Lady Rohesia seemed to care not a whit about his petty torments. The woman's attention drifted to the area's high ceilings and beautiful, arched windowpanes lining the wall on her left. After a few moments, they entered a large room with a vaulted ceiling. Walter led her atop a massive circular platform with the rendition of a ram's skull painted on the floor. The demonic image's brilliant eyes, which were colored with a mixture of cinnabar to create their red hue, stared up at them with malicious intent. The circular platform's curved wall was lined with arched alcoves containing large statues of twelve hooded disciples. Their cold, emotionless eyes stared down at the duo as they ascended the platform's short staircase. Tall, singular candelabras illuminated the room and cast strange shadows across the statues' expressionless faces.

Upon arriving, he ushered her to five round discs set into the floor around the demonic skull. "The circular pedestals will take you wherever you wish, milady. My castle boasts a variety of areas for your pleasure – a theatre, garden, laboratory and cathedral wing. You are free to go wherever you please, though do be mindful dangers exist within my domain."

After observing the scene for a moment, she stepped beside him and remarked. "There are five circular pedestals here, yet you mention only four?"

"That is because the fifth is unworthy of your attention." He replied, waving her away as if his answer should have been obvious. "The pedestal second from your right leads to the waterways. I can scarcely imagine why you would wish to see that inferior place. I shall take you to the theater, for its beauty never fails to impress." Without awaiting her answer, he stepped onto the pedestal on the far right. "When the pedestal returns, you may follow me there."

A gasp fled her lips when the object lifted from its position in the platform and hurtled the red-haired nobleman into the air. A white light surrounded him and the sight of her surprise vanished as he teleported from the room. He did not doubt she would follow him, for he expected curiosity to overcome her hesitation.

Upon arriving in the theatre, the sound of operatic voices drifted faintly throughout its calm atmosphere. The red-haired nobleman stepped off the entrance disc. Coils of lush hair framed his face as he looked up at the opulence in which he dwelled. The pedestal was located on a platform intersecting three gold-carpeted staircases lined with beautiful hand-carved mahogany railings. A large stone hearth situated behind the entrance disc was decorated by a statue of an angel against the wall above it. Thick, red velvet curtains lined the walls at the base of the main staircase. Ornate doors, located opposite the staircase, led to the theater's numerous rooms. Luxurious gold sofas embroidered with elaborate patterns were positioned against the wall on either side of the door. He loved the theatre almost as much as his throne room, for its grandeur and soft candlelit halls comforted him.

He waited for her atop the left staircase, his dark eyes peering down at the pedestal until her delicate, grey form materialized before him. The moment she stepped off the disc, her eyes grew wide with amazement. She stood a moment, absorbing the area's magnificence, before the words fled her lips. "This place…is beautiful."

"Of course it is." He replied, his bold, self-assurance causing her head to turn to his imposing form. He descended the steps, his long cloak billowing behind him as he continued. "I would expect no less. Come, milady, I wish us to sit and chat for a moment."

Without awaiting her approval, he swept down the staircase and through the doors beyond. She followed gingerly after him, her eyes scanning the theatre's elaborate beauty as he led her through several massive hallways and rooms. After a short time, he led her into another massive room close to the main entrance. Two red velvet chairs were positioned in front of a hearth between three intersecting staircases. The carpet covering the floor was a beautiful sage green, rather than the gold that had decorated the entrance room. Numerous chandeliers hung from the ceiling high above. Hundreds of candles cast a warm glow throughout the massive room. Its soft, haunting allure seemed to please her, for she smiled slightly at him when he ushered her to one of the chairs. A small round table had been set up between the chairs. To his delight, a glass – filled the brim with red wine – awaited him. A book had also been set on the table, though he knew not why or how it had gotten there. He suspected a human previously traversing the area had left it behind.

After sitting down on one of the theatre's luxurious chairs, she took notice of the book on the table beside her. She picked it up and examined its cover, whilst he seated himself in the chair beside hers. The hearth's crackling flames half-shadowed his face, giving him a slightly unsettling aura that prompted her to glance up in interest. When their eyes met, she withdrew a breath before showing it to him.

He gave the woman a mocking smile. "So, the lady enjoys philosophy. How…unexpected."

With an impatient huff, she opened the book and scanned its handwritten pages, which had yellowed over time and faded. "My mother taught me _some_ philosophy. She felt I needed to know the world and its complexities. Yet, after reading _The Republic_, I feel I know even less."

"Most humans are illiterate and have not the will to understand such things." Walter chuckled, his eyes never leaving her for a moment.

"Perhaps we can enlighten each other about Plato's views?"

"What could I possibly learn from you?" His dark eyes flickered in the firelight. After considering her words a moment, his smile broadened. He wondered what she might offer that he had not already obtained through his own studies. "I will indulge you…this once."

She gave him a small, hesitant smile. "I struggle with Plato's idea of freedom as an ethical concept. He links reasoned choice with virtue and rejects unconstrained choice. Is that truly freedom?"

"That depends on what you define freedom to _mean_." He replied matter-of-factly, ignoring the confused look she gave whilst continuing. "Our actions are determined by what we believe is 'good.' What we believe is good is determined by our knowledge. Ignorant humans come here and play my games because I make them do so. Like a god, I decide their fates – and yours. To Plato, tyranny develops only the lowest parts of our souls at the expense of reason. Yet, to me, virtue cannot exist without it – for its opposite defines it. Humans would call my actions tyrannical. However, I am driven by my nature, not by virtue."

"That is quite interesting." She mused. "If we acted only virtuously and based upon reason alone, the world might be rather…boring. Perhaps, virtue in and of itself could devolve into another form of tyranny? Yet, I disagree with your contention that we lack free will. For example, you choose to sit and discuss philosophy with me. You could kill me instead, or do any number of other things, but you do not. I also chose to go with you tonight. I could have run away but I did not."

Walter returned her observation with a sardonic grin. "The illusion of choice is a powerful deception to those who have none. We exist by design, which determines our actions and, consequently, our knowledge."

"We are not animals though – we are capable of reason, should we choose to pursue it. Perhaps, freedom is _choosing_ not to act completely without restraint? Yet, I wonder if that is a truly virtuous choice or simply a _necessary_ one?"

"Perhaps, it is neither."

"You are not helping!" She smiled in return – though hers was of appreciation, rather than insult. "What a conundrum! I will have to think on this more."

Walter chuckled. "As will I, milady." He rose from his chair and gave her a short bow. Thick locks of his crimson hair splayed around his regal visage. He stood in front of the fire – blocking its warmth and light from her gaze. His smooth voice disrupted the silence that followed. "Now that I have confused you further, perhaps we shall go on a stroll through my garden? You can see the truth in my words for yourself. The creatures there have no free will; they exist only because I will them to."

When she looked up at him she remarked indifferently. "I suppose, I exist also because you _will_ me to?"

His lips curled. He detested her imprudence but could not deny her truthfulness. "Indeed, you do. And, should I tire of you, you will cease to."

Understanding his implication, she set the book down and rose from her chair. "Very well. If you _will_ me to accompany you, let us go, now."

"Good." Without looking at her again, Walter ascended the grand staircase to the theater's teleport pad. The curtness in his response ensured she understood their little discussion was at an end.

He did not require the use of a teleport pad, as he could translocate anywhere within his domain. However, he did not want her exploring areas not intended for her prying eyes. The woman had a natural curiosity not even he could extinguish. Yet, he did not want to – knowing that if she ceased looking to him for answers and understanding, he might grow bored of her. Wealth afforded her the luxury of contemplating the nature of human existence. Most humans did not have the means to pursue education and enlightenment. Commoners lacked knowledge and, more importantly, power. He thought himself far more suited to those of higher status; for he loved knowing his power was not only perceived – but also far greater than theirs. Thus, he understood wealth gave her the knowledge she needed to pique his interest. Had she not been born into privileged circumstances; he would not have given her the slightest glance.

Whereas she was designed to entertain him, he was designed to consume her when he grew bored of her charms. Her ability to surprise and challenge him exceeded his expectations. Thus, he was content with her presence…for the time being. It was possible he even enjoyed it, but he would not go so far as to make such an admission. Not yet.

After accompanying her back to the teleport room, he led her to the second disc on the left of the five presented for their choosing.

As there was only enough room for one, he gave her a wry smile whilst ushering for her to step onto it. "After you, milady. I will meet you there."

"How can you-" When she tried to speak, a white light surrounded the edges of the disc. Within seconds, it ejected from its position in the floor and carried her into the air. When it seemed like she would be crushed against the room's high ceiling, she dissolved in a flash of bright white light.

With a low, scornful chuckle, Walter flicked his cloak and translocated after her.

Upon appearing in the garden's grand atrium, he caught sight of Lady Rohesia observing an undead human skeleton patrolling the edges of the room. Her large, grey-blue eyes stared at the brute with keen interest. Her expressionless face puzzled him, for she seemed to be contemplating something her silent lips would not yet reveal.

The garden's enchanting beauty mesmerized him. As alluring as it was, many brave warriors succumbed to the creatures lurking within its rooms and conservatories. Renditions of Greek and Roman goddesses with their hands folded in prayer were engraved into its ancient stone walls. The entrance's high ceiling boasted three massive round windows. Calming moonlight filtered through the elaborate glass windowpanes, casting exquisite circular patterns of light onto the floor. Unlike the theatre's soothing operatic serenade, the garden brimmed with the vibrancy of life. Crickets chirped endlessly amidst the foliage, as if to remind the world of the garden's existence. Long since abandoned, it flourished despite its neglect. Patches of lush grass grew beside its crumbling walls, whilst ornate stone tiles decorated the floor, giving the area a wistful, sad magnificence. The garden's warm, heavy air filled his nostrils with its pleasant floral scent. When he looked up, thousands of stars twinkled faintly in the unnatural darkness beyond the garden's glass imprisonment.

Streams of moonlight illuminated her regal form. From a distance, the woman seemed illusionary, as if one of the goddesses engraved into the wall had found Eden. Yet, her sad expression gave no indication of the joy that should have come with such a discovery. Instead, her eyes remained locked upon the skeleton's shambling form. The creature kept its distance; unwilling to incite its master's wrath by attacking his human visitor. Nevertheless, its glowing red eyes stared back at her with menacing determination. Had its master's presence not compelled it to yield, it would have been upon her in seconds.

Remembering their previous conversation, his lips formed a delicate smile. "My castle contains monsters far superior to that pathetic skeleton, milady."

The woman whirled to face him. Her crystalline spheres shone in the brilliant moonlight, which seemed as natural as the sun. Her pensiveness irritated him somewhat, for she was oblivious to all except the insignificant creature lurking in the room's dark corners.

"I have never seen such a thing…" She whispered. "Though dead, it walks the earth like the living. How can you say your creatures lack free will? It lives and breathes as I do."

He shook his head, the exasperation in his tone evident when he answered coldly. "The wretch has no mind of its own; it simply exists in this world because of my power."

"God decrees that all living things have freedom of choice." She replied.

The red-haired nobleman rolled his eyes. "My monsters cannot choose, for I have commanded them not to attack. Holy books and human philosophers could not possibly have accounted for their existence."

"Nor _yours_." Her lips formed a knowing smirk.

He chuckled softly at her cheek, his voice falling quiet alongside his shrewd reply. "Of course." Then, ushering to the door on the opposite side of the rectangular space, he added. "There are far worthier things for you to look upon than this dreadful wretch."

The lady scoffed, reflecting his remark back at him with a hint of disdain. "Are you referring to yourself or the garden, milord?"

"_Both_." Walter tossed his head, curtaining his wry grin beneath the luscious coils of his crimson hair.

His leisurely steps contrasted her swift, shuffling ones. In an effort to ensure her clothing would not be ruined by the garden's dirt and dust-covered floor, she picked up the train of her dress and swept after him. Moonlight and shadow cascaded across the red-haired lord's commanding form – revealing his terrifying yet striking appearance. When he glanced over his shoulder, he noticed her staring at him. It occurred to him then, that though she knew what he was, he had not bothered to uncover what she was.

As he pushed the door open and admitted her into the hallway beyond, his sudden curiosity captured her attention. "Tis' time you revealed some of your secrets to me."

"What for?" She asked – the curtness in her voice evident. "You know so much about everything, I am surprised you have not uncovered them already."

Walter stopped and turned to face her. The lord's lips formed a displeased frown whilst his dark eyes flickered a shade of red. He towered over her, demanding her submission as he snapped. "Your cheek is becoming tiresome, Lady Rohesia."

"As is your arrogance." She snapped back, ignorant of – or perhaps apathetic to – her host's waning patience. "If I told you, they would no longer be secrets, would they?"

"Perhaps." He replied, drawing his lips back to reveal his fangs. Then, remembering she cared not about her fleeting life, he sighed. His thoughts drifted to the stable boy, lord and mare – remembering that the same result could be achieved through gentle coaxing, rather than coercion. A fine line existed between cruelty and tolerance he was unused to considering. After drawing a breath, he forced his lips into a polite smile.

He would compromise for the sake of decorum – as well as her _inevitable_ acquiescence. "You may choose what you wish to tell me."

When she nodded in approval, he turned away from her and resumed walking - his eyes glinting in delight at his easily won success. He led her through the hall and into the room beyond. It looked much like the first, though the skeletons occupying it were crimson instead of white. He stood in the doorway, watching as three pronged claws shot upward from the earth. A low rumble vibrated through the room as one of the garden's more 'unique' creatures made its presence known. It concealed itself expertly beneath the sodden earth and stone; revealing only its knife-like claws. The deadly blades ripped through the earth with terrifying fury, fully prepared to disembowel whatever entered its path.

The moment his boot crossed the threshold, the creature catapulted itself upward from the earth – revealing its grotesquely slender humanoid form. Its faceless head was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. The tarnished steel claws on each of its hands, now fully visible, dragged nosily against the worn tiles covering the ground. Its unsettling appearance, like that of a human with its skin stripped away, contrasted starkly with the garden's stunning ambience. Walter gave the wretched thing a disgusted look – daring it to defy his will – whilst he stepped aside to admit her into the room.

The moment she sighted the creature, she cocked her head and permitted a smile to crease the corners of her lips. Undaunted by its presence, she approached it. "If you are so powerful, why do you require so many monsters? Surely, one is enough."

Walter returned her question with an amused glance. Then, focusing his attention on the brute, answered darkly. "I like variety, milady. I do not require them - but they add a bit of interest to my games."

"Games?" She raised an eyebrow. "What games are you referring to? I do not understand."

"The human kind." A slow, knowing smile crossed his lips. As he looked down at the vile brute, his repugnance grew. It was not beautiful like the garden, or entertaining like the lady. It existed solely for one purpose. To him, it was no more alive than a piece of furniture. Its lack of significance compelled him to remove it from their presence, for he did not desire its filth to tarnish the beauty around them. Without hesitation, he snatched the wretch by the throat and tore its head from its neck like a child pulling apart an unwanted toy. Blood spurted from its severed remains and rained upon the garden's tiled floor. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed its head over his shoulder and whirled to face her – eager to absorb her shocked reaction.

To his vexation, she gave the tattered remains a sorrowful look. Her voice, once curious, fell unsettlingly quiet. "Why did you do that? It caused us no harm, Lord Bernhard."

The red-haired lord's eyes narrowed. "Because I can. That is all the reason I need." With a mocking laugh, he kicked the carcass with his boot before continuing matter-of-factly. "These creatures exist to test those who challenge me. Many humans have, _tragically_, tried and failed."

After a long silence, she shook her head, her long, golden hair falling against her lovely face. "Why would anyone challenge you if you cannot be defeated?"

"Tis' simple – I obtain that which they desire most, and they come here to die. I do love watching their fruitless efforts."

"Do you feel no empathy for them at all?" Anger flickered in her gaze as she looked from him to the bloody remains strewn across the floor. Her lips curled in displeasure before she turned away and cast her gaze to the floor. "Perhaps I should lower my expectations."

"Why should I care about their useless lives?" Walter resumed walking. Instead of continuing on, he slowly circled her with bored nonchalance, like a vulture waiting for prey to die so it could pick the flesh from its bones. His slow, assertive movements prompted the woman to look up at him once more. Her disappointment followed him as he went. Uninhibited by it, he continued blithely. "Do not sympathize with them or these monsters. They exist solely for my entertainment, for my power over the night – and over them – is absolute."

"It seems, so is your cruelty." She released an exasperated sigh, desperate to change the conversation before her melancholy overcame her. After a brief pause, she looked up at him once more. Her grey dress reflected the moonlight; giving her a somewhat mystical appearance that rivaled his own. Her voice softened somewhat. "It must be lonely, living this way. It is unlike my humble mortal life. My mother and father would certainly _not_ approve."

"And Lord Armster?" Walter gave her a sardonic grin, eager to uncover more about her unusual suitor.

"Though he has killed many in battle, he does not find death as entertaining as you do."

"Ah, so his icy facade conceals a conscience. Perfect."

Catching his implication, her eyes narrowed. "I thought you were interested in me?"

"I am." He replied, his flippantness irritating her somewhat as he continued gently. "That is why I look forward to seeing you again, milady. Unfortunately, the night is fading in your realm. I suppose, tis' time I returned my sad little songbird to her cage."

She gave him a reproachful look, her eyes narrowing until realizing his comment was more factual than insulting. With a sigh, she nodded in agreement, her words softening as she followed him back from whence they came.

"Do you wish me to return?" She asked, her grey-blue eyes staring after his tall figure as he walked ahead of her.

Walter looked over his shoulder at her. With a coy grin, his calm voice filled her ears – the assurance in his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. "If _you_ wish to, I shall look forward to it. You may come whenever you please. And, as always, I will be waiting."

She bowed her head. A soft, wan smile crossed her lips. "You expect nothing of me. That simple fact means more than you shall ever know. In this place, I am free."

Walter paused. He had never heard a human tell him he _freed_ them. When he brought human prey to his castle in the past, he did so for his own gain. Never before had a human returned _willingly_. He watched her, noting the fact she stood dangerously close. Had he wanted to, he could have snatched her life from her instantly. Yet, for some reason, the prospect of doing so felt…unseemly.

"If you wish to end my life, I would consider it a blessing. At least in death, I would no longer have to serve the whims of others."

Walter stared at her, his dark eyes flickering. Curiosity washed through him the longer he looked upon her. The strange deadness in her eyes troubled him. It was as though a part of her had already succumbed to death before it had taken her. It was the same look he remembered during their first meeting. If he chose to grant her suggestion, she would simply accept it, like so many other things. She would not run in terror or attempt to defy his will. The idea of not fearing death because life was a far worse punishment bewildered him. He thought on this for a moment, his brow furrowing while she stood complacently before him. Though much smaller than he, her discreet, solemn air confronted him like none other had.

The lack of challenge dissolved his hunger instantly while, simultaneously, stirring within him a burning curiosity. She presented a unique sort of game – whose ending he could not predict outright. Her indifference captured his attention utterly.

"You are far more interesting to me alive." He replied, the words dripping from his lips. It was not his nature to acquiesce to anyone, let alone a human. He could scarcely believe a creature so delicate had made him yield – but she had – for the time being. "Why do you not fear me?"

Without batting an eye, her soft voice replied. "Though I grieve the lives that have been lost to you, I understand it is not simple. Like you, I must hide my truth from the world."

"And what is your truth?" He asked, his voice lowering to a whisper. To his chagrin, she said nothing. After a long silence passed, he swept a bow before her, his lush red hair cascading against his ashen face as he added thoughtfully.

"Perhaps, in time, I will know."


	4. Ensemble

**Chapter 4**

More than a week passed before the lady returned. To him, it might as well have been a century. Given his long life, time seemed to pass more slowly for him than his human counterparts. When he was not hunting, sitting on his throne, or drinking wine by the hearth in the theater, he spent the rest of his time reading. His studies were far from the philosophical texts he had discussed with Lady Rohesia. Ever on the search for greater power, he churned through dusty texts about the object of his obsessive interest. Although he controlled the Ebony Stone, his yearn for even greater power left him dissatisfied. So long had he searched for it that his lack of results was beginning to grate on his nerves.

Ever confident, he assured himself the Crimson Stone would inevitably re-surface. Its power was far too great for it to remain undetected. _Someone_ had it, and it was only a matter of time before they realized its tremendous power – and he was determined to hunt them down like a dog when they used it. Whoever wielded it would be even more powerful than he. It was a risk he could not accept, no matter how much time passed, or how beloved by the night he believed he was. He despised limitations of _any_ kind, no matter how small.

Thus, he played his games and waited for whoever had the Crimson Stone to appear. The one strong enough to challenge him would likely have it in their possession. As no mortal could possibly defeat him without it due to the Ebony Stone's protection, his theory seemed sound. He would lure them to his castle like a hunter baiting a boar and extinguish them. The thought of fighting a worthy adversary _and_ picking the stone off their desecrated corpse thrilled him. He would rule over mankind and Death without anything, or anyone, powerful enough to hinder his ambitions. His plan could not have been more perfect.

Yet, as time passed, he began to wonder if his assumption was correct. The games always ended in his victory. Despite this, his search was merely another 'game' he would have to play until its inevitable conclusion.

Of course, it would conclude with him obtaining the Crimson Stone – that much he was _certain_.

In the meantime, he amused himself with Lady Rohesia. Though she had only visited him once, her cold rejection of his charms inspired him to consider _other_ ways of obtaining her approval. Thus, upon sensing her presence, he translocated to the castle entranceway and waited for her at the drawbridge, eager to uncover the secrets hidden beneath her façade.

The lady continued up the road; the child accompanying closely by her side. Though he had been expecting the lady, he had not expected her to bring a _child_. He tossed his head, the repugnance on his face becoming more obvious each passing moment. Nevertheless, his desire for entertainment overcame his unreceptiveness. In the dim torchlight, his tall, imposing form appeared as nothing more than a shadow.

She was about half-way to the castle when the sounds of footsteps caught his attention. He looked behind her; immediately detecting figures moving through the trees near the forest's narrow entrance. Though scarcely older than a child herself, her assured steps indicated a lack of fear – or perhaps awareness – of what lay in wait. Walter considered going to her but had grown quite comfortable watching from a distance. His superior hearing meant he would not miss whatever was about to transpire. Nevertheless, his scowl deepened. It seemed a shame for her to meet her end, especially after all the trouble he had gone through to obtain her. Unexpected twists often made his games more exciting, even if they ended sooner than his liking. Thus, he leaned against one of the heavy chains securing the drawbridge, eager to be a silent audience to their plight.

"Are we there yet, milady?" Justine asked, her light brown eyes looking up at the lady impatiently as they trudged along the road.

The little girl kicked at the loose pebbles lining the path, watching them skitter across the worn gravel with passing interest. In her hand, she toted a ragged stuffed doll by the arm. The cream fabric, worn and stained, contrasted the child's tidy appearance. The doll's oval-shaped head boasted no discernible features except for a single, large ruby colored bead in the middle. Its simple arms, much longer than its legs, gave it a somewhat bizarre appearance.

Suddenly, the child raised her head. "Did you hear that? I think someone's here!"

"I can see the castle!" The lady assured, her voice lifting in encouragement. "I'm sure the sound was just an animal. We are in a forest, after all."

"What if it's a wolf?" The child's voice filled with dread as she surveyed their surroundings. "My papa told me stories about wolves eating people! Maybe a whole pack of them is waiting for us in the trees!"

"Nonsense, child." She gave the girl a reassuring smile. "I do not think we would taste very appealing. It was probably a deer or perhaps, a badger-"

"Not quite!" A man's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

In surprise, the child screamed and clutched the folds of Arabella's dress. The lady froze, her eyes widening as a man emerged from his hiding place in the trees. He wore a shabby, wide-brimmed hat and a well-worn coat. His tall, ragged brown boots thumped across the ground as he approached the woman and child. His rough voice filtered through the darkness.

"Alack!" He exclaimed, his dark eyes narrowing upon the unusual pair. His emaciated frame towered over them. He appeared to be in his early thirties, though the lines on his face made him seem much older. His dark, ragged brown hair hung in greasy, limp strands around his long, narrow face. "What are a woman and child doing wandering about at this hour?" He asked, the jeer in his tone prompting the child to bury her face in the lady's dress. "I was expecting to find a merchant or a courier. Yet, instead, the night yields you two? Truly, luck is not in my favor tonight."

"What do you want?" The firmness in her voice faltered when the stranger approached them.

Though he walked with a slight limp, his steps were light and unhurried. He gave a short, mocking bow. "Funny you should ask," He replied, his voice filling with glee when he studied her closely, noting her fine clothing. "Perhaps my luck isn't so terrible, after all. You appear quiet wealthy – and lovely too. That shall be good enough."

The lady's brow furrowed. She pulled the child close to her, her eyes focusing upon the man with growing unease. "Leave us be, wanderer! The child and I have no quarrel with you!"

"Tisk, that is where you are wrong, miss." The man smiled, his lips revealing his rotting yellow teeth as he moved closer. Unconcerned about her apprehension, he continued. "There is a disagreement – my comrades and I believe we should have everything you possess, and you do not."

He raised a hand, which prompted several other men to emerge from the trees. The group surrounded the woman and child, their faces sporting grins of delight when she spun around in surprise. Altogether, there appeared to be at least a dozen of them. All were dressed in a similar fashion as their leader – wearing dirty, ragged clothing, worn boots, and possessing unkempt hair.

The lady gathered the child close to her, her voice rising as she replied. "Regretfully, I am not carrying any coin."

"Such a shame," the thin man replied, his voice lowering in mock-regret. His small, dark eyes scanned her a moment before he continued. "That dress you are wearing looks expensive though. What if we were to take it from you? The lady would be naked!" The men erupted in a loud, boisterous laughter. He paused a moment, waiting for silence to befall the group once again before adding. "It has been a while since most of these men have seen a naked woman. I don't think they would be able to control themselves very long, would they?" The men accompanying him all nodded. Wolfish grins spread across their lips.

"I have a child with me," She protested, the desperation in her voice merely adding to the group's entertainment. "Allow the child to leave. She is of no use to you-"

"Oh, but she is." The thin man interrupted. His gaze momentarily left the woman and diverted to Justine. "Some of my men like their girls a bit young. While not my fancy, I shall not be one to judge."

The woman spat on the ground, her eyes alight with fury as she snapped. "I don't think Lord Bernhard would be pleased."

"Lord Bernhard?" The thin man drew his head back, his smile momentarily faltering. "Who is this Bernhard you speak of? Regardless, he is of no matter to us-"

"I would not be so sure of that," She added, her voice filling with confidence as she folded her arms across her chest. "Lord Bernhard is only one of the richest lords in all of Europe. I am certain he would pay just about anything for our safe return."

"She's lying!" a larger man in the group shouted. His voice cut through his comrades' curious whispers. "We should ruin the lady an' kill em' both. This talk of lords an' riches ain't any use to us-"

"Shut up!" The thin man interrupted. His dark eyes glinted with growing interest. "I didn't ask for your opinion! If this lord has gold, we best get it. If she's lyin', we'll kill the lot of em.' A manor in this remote an area couldn't possibly have that many guards to worry bout'."

"Lord Bernhard does not live in a manor." The lady corrected, her lips lifting into a knowing smile. "He lives in a castle up the road. I could take you there, if you wish."

"That'll work just fine for us, miss." The thin man returned her smile with a toothy grin. "You best hope your lord is willin' to pay for the both of you. If he ain't, or if you're lyin', we'll make the little brat you care about so much suffer sorest for it."

Walter could not discern if her fear was genuine or not, for the deadness within her gaze gave no indication either way. The tall scoundrel ushered for her to lead them onward. She acquiesced without objection; her steps swift and urgent as she led them down the gravel road toward the castle. The child, still grasping the woman's long, grey skirt, followed timidly behind. Her assured pace seemed to relax the rogues, who smiled and chuckled at her unexpected boldness.

"I get her first." One of them muttered. Walter could not tell which one the scoundrel was referring to.

As they neared the castle, the larger man asked. "Where are the guards? There's not a soul round' this place. Somethin' aint' right…"

Without looking at him, she held her head high, her voice carrying confidently through the unsettling darkness. "Lord Bernhard has no need of guards. He rarely accepts visitors, and most do not know his castle exists at all, as he prefers seclusion."

"Too bad it ain't gonna last." The thin man remarked, chuckling at the sight of her disapproval.

Walter's lips lifted into a broad smirk; his dark spheres locking upon the woman with malicious enthusiasm. A low, barely audible chuckle escaped his throat as he waited for their arrival. He flicked back his cloak and straightened. Torchlight silhouetted his tall, masculine form. The coils of his thick hair tumbled around his smooth visage whilst he brought a hand to his chin. The woman led the group directly to him like a herd of sheep. Over the centuries, nobility sent him many gifts- from jewelry, gold, furniture, to casks of wine – but none had ever bestowed him the life of a man, let alone _twelve_ of them.

After a few tense minutes, she sighted him upon the drawbridge. Her large, grey-blue eyes widened with relief and fascination. Before she could speak, the thin man bounded ahead of her, his gaze flitting to the castle's imposing structure before settling upon the red-haired nobleman towering before them.

"Ho, now! You must be the one the lady speaks of! I can tell by that proud stance of yours that you must be this castle's master. You have quite the domain, indeed!"

"Why is he standing in the dark?" One of them whispered. The red-haired lord's unnerving anticipation was met with murmurs of unease from some members of the group, who kept themselves at a further distance from the stranger.

Walter returned their unease with a pleasant smile, his dark eyes flickering. Their lower status, in addition to their sordid appearances, nearly caused his lips to curl. His eyes darted between the tall rascal before him and the lady. A red tint flashed through his irises – its appearance so sudden and fleeting none noticed but her. The woman bowed her head, her long, golden hair falling around her face. When she looked up at him, her grey-blue eyes stared at him in silent desperation. Though he did not address her, his eyes briefly met hers – their obscure spheres reflecting her face before shifting to the thin man.

The red-haired lord's rich voice broke the silence. "Good evening, gentlemen. Thank you for kindly escorting my lady and child."

Walter stared at the men as if a bunch of cockroaches had scuttled before his waiting boot. He lifted his head, his smile falling away as the thin man laughed obnoxiously.

With a gruff snarl, the man grasped the woman's arm and pulled her toward him. His voice lowered - undoubtedly detecting the red-haired lord's cynicism when he replied. "Of course, milord. We didn't want anything unfortunate to befall them. Dangers are everywhere; I'm afraid. _Even in your domain_."

"Indeed." The red-haired lord returned the comment with a wry smirk. Feigning gratitude, he continued smoothly. "I appreciate your concern."

"The lady mentioned you'd give _anything_ for their safe return. Wouldn't it be a shame if your lady and child were to…slit their own throats, milord?"

"It would be a terrible shame." Walter's eyes narrowed, his eyes locking upon the man in subtle acknowledgement. As expected, the human's unsubtly veiled threat failed to impress. Without hesitation, he continued. "I would be pleased if you and your comrades joined me for a drink. We can discuss the matter of your reward. I am prepared to be _most_ generous – as long as the lady and child remain unharmed."

"That sounds like a fair offer, milord." Upon removing his hat, he gave the lord a mocking bow. "Let's go, boys! A bit o' drink ain't nothin' to complain bout'."

"How do we know he ain't trickin' us?" One of the men in the group shouted.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Walter's eyes widened with contrived surprise. "All I desire is their safe return. I do not wish to spoil our bargain. I have the perfect reward in mind. If you would kindly follow me, I will ensure you receive it without delay."

"What kind of reward are you talkin' bout'?" The thin man asked. His small, beady eyes stared up at the red-haired lord's imposing frame in growing skepticism. "There's twelve of us an' one of you. If you so much as look at us in a way I don't like, I'll cut out your innards and hang you by the neck with em' myself!"

The red-haired haired lord bowed his head, curtaining his growing amusement. "Such an end would be most unfortunate. My castle contains priceless relics and gold. Alas, only I know where they are kept. I will take you to them so you may get what you are entitled to and be on your way."

"All right." The thin man placed his hat back on his head; covering his greasy thin hair. "But the woman and child come with us until we've got what we came for."

"I would prefer they remain here." The red-haired lord flicked his hand dismissively. "Our arrangement no longer concerns them."

"Oh, but it does, milord." The brute's lips formed a mischievous grin. "Can't have em' tryin' to escape, can we?"

"Where would they escape to?" Walter asked. He motioned dramatically to the surrounding forest. "My castle is remote. They would not travel far before you and your men obtained them again." Then, glancing at Lady Rohesia, he added – the unusual softness in his voice drawing her attention. "The lady is tired. I ask you to allow her and the child to rest while I deal with the matter of your…_reward_."

The lord's unwavering assurance gave the man pause. After considering it a moment, he lifted his hand and waved for the men to follow. "You're a persuasive one, milord!" He laughed, his eyes glinting with renewed delight. When his comrades hesitated, he snarled. "Why are the lot' of you standin' there like a bunch o' useless lumps? Hurry up! We ain't got all night, idiots!"

"Do not rush." Walter replied, his lips forming a polite smile whilst he attempted to ease their apprehension. "I have all the time in the world."

"Well, we _don't_. Get movin' lads!" The thin man strode toward the lowered drawbridge, the ragged tails of his coat swishing behind him as he went like a dog wagging its tail. His thin form looked twiggish compared to the red-haired lord's taller, sculpted form. The other men stared after him in growing apprehension. As none wished to be the sole man in the group to flee, they reluctantly followed suit. Despite their bravado, they stayed close to one another like a flock of sheep – their uneasiness ensuring none straggled far behind.

Before leading them inside, Walter returned his attention to Lady Rohesia, who approached with the child still clinging to her dress. The woman stopped at the threshold of the castle entryway. Her solemnness surprised him, for her fair face revealed no indication that anything was amiss. Nevertheless, when his penetrating look drew her eyes to his, her constrained silence revealed her awareness. The red-haired lord's lips formed a slow, deliberate smirk.

With a flick of his long black cloak, he turned and led the group into the castle's foyer.

"Welcome, gentlemen." Walter ushered grandly to the massive space in which they entered.

He glanced over his shoulder at his guests, whose attention diverted to their surroundings – its beauty and grandeur attesting to his wealth. Some of the men grinned with sheepish excitement; their faith easily won by the grandeur surrounding them. Walter ascended the curved staircase to the pagoda, his cloak billowing dramatically alongside his swift, silent steps.

"Good Lord, we'll be set for life!" One of the men murmured.

As if his castle's magnificent architecture was nothing out of the ordinary, he continued graciously. "Please, come this way. Most of my valuables are stored in the keep."

"If this is any indication of what's to come, that reward of yours will be a sight to behold!" The thin man exclaimed. His small, sharp eyes widened in anticipation.

"Indeed." Without looking at them, Walter approached the pagoda's elaborate door and pushed it open. The group filed in, cackling amongst themselves. As soon as the last of them passed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them.

"Do try not to scream too loud. I would regret frightening the child."

"What?" The thin man asked


	5. Waltz

**Chapter 5**

Walter reemerged into the castle's entrance and slammed the door shut behind him. With a low chuckle, he reached into the inner pocket of his surcoat and pulled out a white handkerchief; dabbing his mouth with it like one who had just finished a satisfying meal. He tucked it away and approached the balustrade. His dark eyes peered down at the lady and child awaiting him in the entryway. After looking at them a moment, a broad grin crossed his lips. The red-haired lord made a sweeping bow, the coils of his thick red hair splaying across his broad shoulders.

"Good evening, milady." He began, his deep voice resonating off the entrance's arched ceiling. "I see you have brought another guest with you. What an unexpected pleasure."

"What's your name?" The little girl stepped forward, her large, brown eyes looking up at the red-haired lord's imposing form. Before Arabella could correct her, she continued merrily. "You're that man my lady was speaking with at Lord Trantoul's party! What happened to those people? Did you show them the treasure?"

His smile broadened. "My name is Walter, child. They shall not bother you or Lady Rohesia any longer."

The child looked at him inquisitively. Like a cat, he remained on the balcony, watching the little girl's movements with ravenous interest. He observed the strange doll clutched in her hand – catching the gleam of its red beaded 'eye' and unusual craftsmanship. A power emanated from the object he could not fully identify.

Unconscious of his interest, the child smiled back at him shyly whilst she observed. "Thank you, Lord Walter. But…what is that red stuff behind you?"

He looked over his shoulder. A thin red pool slowly seeped through the bottom of the door to the tower. As if it were nothing out of the ordinary, he returned his attention to the woman and child. Lady Rohesia's eyes locked upon him in nervous expectation, her face paling somewhat at the sight of it until he answered.

His voice filled with convincing regret. "I offered some wine to the gentlemen, and in their haste to claim my possessions, they must have dropped it. I shall have one of my servants clean it up."

"I think you got some on your coat." The child pointed out.

He looked down at himself, noting the stain on his sleeve. Although his surcoat was burgundy, the deep red color still showed through the fabric. He brushed it away, his smile broadening. The child's vigilance both impressed and annoyed him. "Alas, it seems I have. I hope it will not stain."

"I can wash it out for you?" The little girl asked, her voiced filling with confidence. "Lady Rohesia tells me I'm the best at washing clothes. I can get anything out-"

"Perhaps another time, Justine. Lord Bernhard has other things to attend to." The lady placed a hand on the child's shoulder. Despite her unease, her lips maintained a calm smile as she ushered the girl to the entrance's adjacent hallway. "Why don't you run along and play? Do not venture anywhere except the entrance hall corridors."

"But there's nothing to do here." The child objected, her large, brown eyes looking around the empty space. "I thought we were going to learn astronomy, milady?"

"You are to stay here like a good assistant until I return. We will find something more enjoyable to do later."

Though he had no interest in spending time with children, the red-haired lord understood their insatiable desire for entertainment rivaled his own. He bowed his head once again and ushered to the door on his left, his deep voice capturing the girl's immediate attention. "There is a room with a blue door that may interest the young lady," he began. "It is down that hallway. Take care not to fall into the water. I do not wish to contend with another…inconvenience…this evening."

After the child hurried off to explore, he returned his attention to the woman, watching her ascend the balcony staircase. When she arrived at the top, she slowly approached – her grey-blue eyes locked upon his smirking expression.

Her once calm voice trembled slightly. "Where are the men?"

His eyes flickered. "Was my explanation unsatisfactory?"

"Yes, it was." She snapped, her eyes never leaving his. "There were _twelve_ of them. Surely, you could not-"

With a smooth wave of the hand, the red-haired lord ushered her to the doors next to them. He saw her eyes flit to the deep, crimson liquid seeping tellingly through the doorframe's bottom edge. "May I suggest that you pick up the skirt of your dress? I do not want such a lovely garment to be ruined." Without awaiting her reply, he pushed the doors open and admitted her into the room. "Please forgive the mess." He added, the feigned modesty in his tone evident.

A gasp fled her lips as she stared at the carnage awaiting her. The massive square room was illuminated by tall, gold candelabras along the walls. Blood extinguished most of the candles and dripped down their once polished gold frames. Beautiful dark grey marble covered the center of the floor. Its rich texture, designed to enhance the room's splendor, was covered by pools of blood. Bloody handprints and fingernail marks marred the elaborate square tiles decorating the edges of the room. The room's magnificent balcony, flanked by two red-carpeted staircases, was smeared with blood and entrails.

The room's left and right walls boasted three arched alcoves displaying suits of armor atop stone pedestals. The middle suit of armor carried a spear with a man's body impaled through it like a pig on a spit. An elaborate granite balustrade lined the far left and right side of the balcony's front; ending at its slightly outwardly curved middle, with the thin man's torso on the left end of the balustrade, and his legs on the other.

Walter strode toward the balcony. Several times, his eyes flitted to the remains strewn across the floor. He sighed exasperatedly as he stepped over the blood-entrenched corpses, limbs, and entrails scattered across the room. Whilst they walked, the lady's attention remained focused ahead. Grim silence constrained her horror while she ascended the balcony staircase, her delicate hands gripping the skirt of her dress until they arrived at the top, which remained unsullied by the carnage below. He observed her a moment, noting the coldness in her gaze as she surveyed the grisly, almost unrecognizable remainders of what had been a group of men.

"Would you care for some wine?" He asked; reaching for the bottle and glasses he had prepared and left on a small table prior to her expected return.

"No thank you. Regretfully, I have lost my appetite."

Walter lifted an eyebrow, his eyes flickering upon hearing the sharpness in her reply. With a nonchalant shrug, he poured himself a glass, his voice darkening whilst she continued staring at the carnage below; her indifference attracting his attention. "It seems you are full of surprises, Lady Rohesia. I did not expect you would send all of these men to their doom with nary a tear."

The lady looked at him a long moment. With a quiet sigh, her sorrow faded into antipathy. "Those men would have ravaged and murdered Justine and I if it suited them."

His lips formed a shrewd smirk. "The fact they are dead and you are not was _my_ will, not yours."

"I _chose_ to lead them to you." She replied. "I grieve what I did, despite knowing it was necessary. Yet, you saved our lives even though you had no obligation to."

The red-haired lord took a slow sip of wine. His voice softened somewhat. "Does that surprise you?" When she said nothing, he continued, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Do not be. I like our game, as well as the gifts that you gave me. All of them." He had gorged on so much blood that he would not need to hunt for at least a week. When a brief silence passed, his eyes drifted from the wine to her face.

For the first time since their meeting, his lips lifted into a warm, gentle smile. "Let us go to a room more befitting of you, Lady Rohesia."

He led her to the balcony doors. Before admitting himself through them, he paused to tap the blood off his boots.

They entered a room with a stone and wood bridge over a steep drop. A sharp metallic sound filled the air around them. Two bright reddish-white beams shot horizontally through the air. The woman blinked several times as she took in the sight; her gaze flitting from the beams to the moving gargoyle statues projecting them. Metal plates, set in large wrought iron gates, lined the only path to the doors beyond. The red-haired lord gave the beams a dismissive look. With a tiny smirk, he tapped a small metal plate beside the door, causing the gargoyle statues to become still. The strange beams of light abruptly dissipated.

"It seems I forgot to turn that off." He muttered. "Most do not realize there is a button…"

Without waiting for her, he strode across the walkway. The woman followed suit, picking up the skirt of her dress so she would not trip while crossing the dangerously narrow path. The doors beyond led them to a long corridor. Beams of pale red moonlight filtered through massive windows along the hall. A beautiful red carpet with a gold border enhanced the hall's opulence. Paintings in ornate gold frames lined the walls. Upon entering, she paused upon seeing two skeletons standing on either side of the carpet half-way through the corridor.

He glanced over his shoulder. "They will not hurt you whilst I am here."

She studied their unusual bronze galeas. "Their armor looks very old. I have never seen anything like it except in paintings."

"That is because they are part of my Roman era collection. I am rather fond of antiques."

As he strode by their armored forms, they stood as if at attention. Their hollow, soulless eyes stared directly ahead. He ignored them, for their unthinking obedience was of no interest to him. The lady, on the other hand, proved to be quite the opposite. Her unwavering curiosity seemed to rival his own, even though he had long since grown accustomed to such wonders. Whereas most humans ran in fear of his creatures, her fearless and somewhat naïve enthusiasm, captured his interest. When he reached the ornate doors on the opposite side of the corridor, he paused briefly. His lips formed a slight smile as she approached. As soon as she sighted his softened expression, he turned away and opened the door to the room beyond.

She followed him into a massive ballroom illuminated by gold candelabras along the walls. It was so vast that its magnificence seemed capable of swallowing them. Large windows located within arched recesses lined the walls, allowed gentle streams of moonlight to filter across its mirror-like granite floor. Identical statues featuring Roman goddesses decorated the space between each recess. Its ceiling was so high that it disappeared within the night's obscuring shadows. An ornate decorative gold border with circular corners lined the edges of the room. The pattern, carved directly into its polished black granite floor, enhanced its grandeur.

He glided across the vast space. As he went, the floor's glassy surface reflected his image. Upon reaching the center of the ballroom, he looked over his shoulder and noticed she did not follow. Instead, her grey form swept toward one of the windows along the wall. Moonlight spilled across her fair visage. Like the folded wings of a seraph, the train of her dress fanned across the floor around her feet.

Her barely audible voice filled the calm silence. "I would like to stay here a moment."

"As you wish." He watched her from a distance; his dark eyes following her delicate form as she began to walk the length of the room.

A soft smile crossed her lips. When she looked at him again, her voice lightened somewhat. "This room could easily accommodate several hundred people! My father's estate has a ballroom but it is not nearly as magnificent." A wistful look appeared in her eyes. Seemingly oblivious of his judgement, she extended her arms and moved in a slow waltz, the skirt of her dress whirling around her lithe form. He watched her silently, absorbed in the sight of her graceful steps as she continued. "My father taught me to dance when I was a child. I did not see him much, but it was one of the few things he only did with me. He liked to line dance but I found it far too stuffy for my tastes. It took a bit of convincing, but he eventually taught me how to waltz. I was pretty horrid to start – his poor feet were quite sore from me stepping on them!" She laughed to herself, her sorrow momentarily seeming to lift. She swept in his direction and circled around him, her dress fanning around her as she waltzed across the floor. Walter watched her, feigning boredom despite the fact his gaze never left her for an instant. When she looked at him again, she swept in front of him and made a short curtsy. "Do you enjoy dancing, Lord Bernhard?"

He tossed his head, curtaining his discomfort behind the locks of his crimson hair. His eyes gleamed sharply in the dimly lit space. "I have not danced in two centuries." He scoffed, his lips lifting into a smirk. "Though I have watched humans partake in it, there are far more important things requiring my attention."

"Such as?" Then, as if guessing his answer, she added slyly. "What _do_ you do in this place all night _besides_ kill people? You could dance with me, if you wish?"

The red-haired lord's eyes widened whilst a low, mocking chuckle escaped his throat. "I have not the inclination for it."

"Come now, Lord Bernhard!" She insisted, her smiling expression unwavering despite his stubbornness. "We are quite alone here. I can show you how to waltz? Or are you _afraid _of looking undignified?"

"Of course not!" He snapped, his eyes tinting a shade of red at her brusqueness. "Do not insult me."

"I am not trying to." She replied. "I am merely offering to teach you. It is far more fun to dance with someone else than alone, milord. Wouldn't you agree?"

He looked at her moment, his anger receding in the wake of her gentle coaxing. "Your lack of fear is…_interesting_. I suppose, I will indulge you this _privilege_, if you insist..."

"I do." Her smile broadened. "Would you like me to lead? As you have not waltzed before, it may be easiest."

Though he disliked the idea of being guided about the room like a puppet, as he knew not how to waltz, he could not reasonably object. With a polite smile, he swept a low bow in acquiescence. The moment he straightened, she stepped closer to him – her smaller height inclining him to bend slightly forward. He extended his hand to her, his lips parting when she accepted it readily.

She held his left hand up in her own. "Now, wrap your right arm around my waist and hold it there."

After pausing a moment, he slowly slid his hand around the small of her waist. His gloved hand skimmed her dress' soft fabric. When she looked up at him, he asked softly. "Why do you want to dance with me?"

"Because I can." She answered. "And you seem more than capable of it, despite your initial refusal. Let us discuss something other than death, for a change."

The red-haired lord chuckled. "And what would the lady like to discuss?"

Slowly, she led him around the room. At first, his steps were somewhat awkward and out of synch. He did not know how to follow her, for her feet seemed to move across the floor in a rhythm as puzzling as it was graceful. She gently corrected his steps whilst managing to avoid his feet. Several times, he came close to stepping on her, his mistake making his lips curl until she guided him to another part of the room. She never once commented on his mistakes. Instead, she simply kept her attention on his face as they went. Her soft voice eased his impatience.

"Are there others?" She asked, her pale eyes gleaming in the dark. As they passed a window, moonlight spilled across their forms and cast their shadows across the floor. When he gave no answer, she continued as if believing her vagueness was the reason for his silence. "Are there others _like you_, Lord Bernhard?"

Walter's lips form a thoughtful smile. Unsurprised by her question, and catching her implication, he answered enigmatically. "There used to be more."

"You are not the only one?"

"While the church would certainly prefer if I was, they are far too busy fighting heathens to concern themselves with my kind."

"The church seems to have no trouble persecuting anyone who opposes them." Her voice quietened. Then, as if remembering it was only they in the room, she continued. "I have seen more evil from men of God than those they condemn. Every time Lord Armster journeys east, he returns less himself."

The red-haired lord considered her words. Then, with a mocking smile, he asked. "And whilst he is east, do you pray for his safe return like a good Christian?"

The woman's smile faded. She shook her head; her long golden hair floating behind her as she drew him back to the edge of the room. While they danced, he noticed his ability to keep up with her was improving. While by no means comparable to her, his steps became smoother as his confidence grew.

Her answer made him draw back in surprise. "No. I recognize I have no control over whether he returns or not, so I choose to do what is within my control. Though my life is limited, I do not want to spend it living in ignorance."

"I do not think Lord Armster would approve."

"He allows me to study, of course, but no – he certainly would not." Once again, her smile returned. "I am glad we have met, even though I must seem a fool in your eyes. Unlike anywhere else, I can be myself in your presence – silly dancing and all."

The red-haired lord's lips formed a soft, knowing smile. He barely realized he was smiling at all until he noticed her cheeks flush under his penetrating gaze. His voice lowered as he gently released his hold on her and stepped away. Their dance at an end, she curtsied whilst he swept a low bow; the coils of his crimson hair tumbling around his ashen face. His rich voice lowered when at last he replied. "I enjoyed our little dance…though not as much as the conversation, Lady Rohesia."

"Would you like to try again next time I visit?"

"I would. Though, at this time, I would like to discuss another matter with you." Without waiting for her agreement, he walked to the doors on the opposite side of the ballroom.

The woman followed after him, her eyes widening in surprise. "What matter do you mean, Lord Bernhard?"

Unwilling to answer her until it suited him, he led her down another corridor and across a second ball room identical to the first. As they went, the woman's steps quickened until she walked beside him. He considered leading her to his throne, but realized her focus remained on the question at hand. Upon reaching the final corridor before the pagoda's second floor, he led her to a red carpeted staircase.

Walter's lips formed a deliberate smirk. "Eternity can be rather…monotonous, milady." He began, his voice darkening whilst she stared up at him in visible confusion. Without hesitation, he flicked his cloak and continued. "Thus, I have decided to pursue a new game."

All at once, the woman's contentment faded to despair. His dark implication was suddenly clear. "You don't mean…Lord Armster?"

Pleased by her surprise, Walter's smirk broadened. He raised his head, holding it high whilst gazing down at her like a king before a serf. His former congeniality dissipated. Though she interested him, he could not resist beginning another game, as his need for entertainment outweighed the importance of her approval.

With a cold, loud laugh, he replied. "So, you finally understand. Lord Armster is a rather…unique creature. I wish to see if he is as worthy a warrior as they say. Perhaps, if he defeats my monsters, he will finally be the first human to face me in battle. Of course, he shall likely die, but tis' a risk I have no trouble making him take."

"How could you do such a thing?" She yelled, her voice carrying through the corridor far more loudly than expected. "I will not let you subject him to such cruelty! You don't have to do this! If you leave him be, I promise to keep returning to you-"

"You are in no positon to make demands of me," He snapped, his dark eyes tinting a shade of red at her imprudence. He stopped at the top of the red carpeted staircase leading to the second floor; his taller form making her appear insignificant by comparison. Dull red moonlight streamed through the massive windowpanes lining the hallway, giving his robes and hair an uncanny blood-red sheen.

Despite his newfound interest in Lady Rohesia, he could not forego an opportunity to exploit her concern. "Perhaps I will keep you here and lure him into my domain." He added coldly, "I am certain his death, though inevitable, would be quite entertaining – at least, for me."

After pausing a long moment, she finally replied. "Why not change the game?" Her pale eyes locked against his. "You mentioned you have never lost. Like rats in a maze, you make them come to your castle. You already know all the traps and foils in this place. Does that not get boring, after a time?"

Before he could reject her ridiculous suggestion, she ascended the carpeted stairs and stood on the landing between the first and second floor. She looked up at him imploringly, her voice never wavering despite his obvious displeasure. Nevertheless, her instance won his attention, for he had not expected her to indulge his desire for human prey. No human had ever told him _how_ to play _his_ games.

His lips parted to retort, but her imploring look convinced him to exercise patience. "Even though Lord Armster is human, he is powerful. A man of his skill deserves far better than the same boring arrangement. A location on neutral ground could permit a more _exciting_ outcome. Should he survive, I ask only that you promise to spare his life."

"And should he die?" He asked, his displeasure slowly transforming into curiosity. Though he had all but decided Lord Armster's fate, he had not yet decided hers. He watched her slowly ascend the stairs. She stopped a few steps below him. In the candlelight, her fair form seemed almost illusionary.

"You may do as you wish with me."

The red-haired vampire laughed, his voice echoing through the Pagoda's empty halls. "I can already do whatever I wish, milady. It amuses me that you would bargain for the life of a man you do not love. If I were to kill him, you would not need to fear an uncertain future by his side. Most would consider it a blessing."

"Not I, for I am _not_ most." She replied, the firmness in her tone unyielding. She seemed to take offence to his generalization, for her lips formed a deep frown as she continued. "I do not want Lord Armster to die. Were you to kill him, his demise would cause me great sorrow."

"Yet, you would risk sending him to his death anyway?" He raised an eyebrow.

The woman's unpredictability intrigued him. He did not understand her concern for the well-being of a man she cared so little for. Nevertheless, the idea of ending Lord Armster's life in a similar manner as he had others was not as appealing as he expected. Her proposal offered something different. If he won, he would have the pleasure of ending two lives. Of course, he knew it was impossible to lose even if he agreed to her challenge. He did not care what ground it was so long as it was soaked with the white-haired lord's blood – and hers – if it suited him.

"If this is the only way I can save him, then yes, I will." She answered. "I believe he will surprise you, yet."

"I do love a challenge." He mused. "I have never observed a game outside of Eternal Night. Tis' an interesting proposal..."

"I am glad you find Lord Armster's fate _interesting_." She snapped. Then, in a last effort, her expression softened. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you to leave him be? He has suffered enough in God's name; I do not wish him to suffer in mine!"

The red-haired lord laughed once again, his eyes flashing a tint of red from her nerve. "If you came here expecting to change my nature, you are more foolish than I imagined."

"It is far easier to hate than to understand those who would do us harm. I cannot change what you are, but perhaps I can change what you become." The lady gazed at him, her anger fading into sorrow. With a trembling sigh, she lowered her head and turned away, her long hair veiling her grieved expression.

He paused; his eyes widening upon hearing her words. Though he knew she was somewhat unpredictable, he had not expected her to return his cruelty with compassion. As he stood before her, staring at her backside, his throat tightened. The emotion, which he could not quite discern, disappeared as quickly as it came.

After regaining himself, he shook his head. "The game shall commence by your will or not, milady."

Had she remained angry, he could have easily reflected her rage back with mockery and dismissal. Her grim acceptance eliminated the satisfaction he had wanted to feel after revealing his intent for Lord Armster. The red-haired lord paused, uncertain how to proceed in light of this realization.

Unable – or perhaps unwilling – to recant his decision, he continued coldly. "My invitation to Lord Armster should be an honor. With that in mind, perhaps the game will be even more entertaining if you decided the terms. Consider it my gift to _you_."

"This is not a gift; it is a curse." The woman shook her head, her voice regaining some of its calm whilst she continued exasperatedly. "I do not understand how you can be so kind, yet also so cruel, Lord Bernhard. I thought better of you than this."

"I care not what you think, human." He snipped.

"If that is so, why bother letting me decide the terms of your game?" She whirled to face him. Her eyes burned at the sight of his smirking expression.

The sudden return of her rage was even more thrilling than he expected. He wanted to provoke her, even though doing so made him feel strangely empty. He had expected Lord Armster's fate to delight, rather than upset her. He could not determine if she loved the man or hated him. However, the pale nobleman's fate did not concern him as much as the possibility of her refusing to return.

Upon realizing it was _possible_ that he _may_ have pursued Lord Armster in haste, he attempted to salvage something favorable from the situation. The confidence in his tone waned somewhat. "I have never offered anyone what I am offering you. If you do not wish to decide, I will decide instead."

"When will the game commence?" She asked. Her crystalline spheres, once gentle, glared back at him with cold indifference.

He lifted a hand and shook a gloved index finger at her. Once again, his lips formed their familiar, mocking smirk. "That is not for you to know. I would not want to spoil the _surprise_, after all – or give you an opportunity to warn him, should he even believe you."

Lady Rohesia released a trembling sigh. "I should have guessed as much."

"What are your terms?" He asked again, his patience at last beginning to wane.

He wanted to be done with the trivial discussion before it ruined his mood for the rest of the evening. Even though he should not have been displeased by her reaction, he was. He wondered why it bothered him so, when so many other times, he never gave such things a second thought. It was then he realized – for some reason, her opinion _mattered_ to him. Even though it should not have, it did. He drew a sharp breath and looked away from her, his eyes widening as he attempted to reconcile with its consequences.

Fortunately, the woman's response shifted his attention back to the matter at hand. She addressed him with unfamiliar taciturnity. "The game will be in a secure location neither he nor you are familiar with. You may choose two kinds of monsters to challenge him. If he defeats them, you will spare his life and leave him be. You are not to participate in this game. If I must be an audience to this ridiculousness, so too, shall you."

"I shall not agree to that." He replied, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. "I wish Lord Armster to challenge me if he is victorious. That is _why_ I play these games, milady."

The lady's lips pursed with mutual displeasure. After drawing a breath, she replied. "You asked me to set the terms of the game. I have set them. If you do not like them, you should not have offered to let me decide. Accept them or do not. You will do as you please anyway, I imagine."

Walter gritted his teeth. The consideration he had offered in an effort to ensure her return had cost him dearly. It was too late for him to recant. Though he cared not about traditional notions of honor, the possibility of appearing indecisive and weak was unacceptable. Thus, with a reluctant nod, he replied bitterly. "Very well. Lord Armster shall die, but at least it shall be on your terms. I hope for your sake, and his, that he does not disappoint."

"And I hope for your sake, you realize the folly of your arrogance, Lord Bernhard."

* * *

Upon arriving at the manor with the woman and child, Walter slowed his equine to a halt. Lady Rohesia had hardly said a word since their departure. As she and the child had barely escaped the rogues with their lives, she reluctantly accepted his offer to return them on horseback. Upon dismounting, she glared at him.

After he assisted the child down from his horse, the girl exclaimed. "I like your castle, Lord Walter. Can I come back and see you again?" The little girl looked up at the red-haired lord's tall figure. Her lips lifted into a broad grin when her question caught his attention.

Walter gave the child a polite smile. "If your lady approves, you may." Then, reaching into the pocket of his surcoat, he withdrew several gold coins. "Next time, we shall study the stars. As I am certain waiting was quite boring, take these and buy yourself a treat." He bent down to pass them into her small hands.

After hesitating a moment, Justine stepped forward and took them. The girl's astonishment revealed she had likely never possessed such a large sum in her young life. With an excited gasp, she hastily stuffed them into the pocket of her smock.

"You best return home now, Justine." The woman gave the child a weak smile.

"Yes, milady." With an eager nod, the little girl scampered off. The coins jingled softly as she went.

When the jingling faded to silence, Lady Rohesia gave him a reproachful look before turning to the doors. Walter had half-expected her to say something prior to their parting. When she did not, he huffed and tossed his head. Thick coils of crimson hair fell in front of his right eye as he gazed after her.

Lord Armster's pale form suddenly appeared. The crusader stepped out into the darkness; his form partially shadowed by the glow of candlelight illuminated within the manor entryway. His monochromatic armor and pale skin gave him an unsettling air, even at night.

The lady bowed her head and folded her hands in front of her, her long, straight hair falling around her fair visage whilst she breathed. "Good evening, milord."

After giving the lady an icy glare, Lord Armster's cold voice prompted her to retreat a step. "Where have you been? It is _well_ past midnight. I was expecting you hours ago." The pale nobleman's lips curled. He gave the red-haired lord a curt nod, his eyes stabbing daggers at him while he hissed. "Lord Bernhard. I do not appreciate being made to wait at all hours of the night for my lady's return. Should this happen again-"

"I regret displeasing you, milord." She bowed once again. Upon straightening, she gazed up at the man's severe expression. "Justine and I thought we could walk to Lord Bernhard's estate. Alas, it is further than I anticipated, and we were late arriving. Lord Bernhard kindly offered to return us home. It shall not happen again." After a pausing a moment, she sighed – her eyes catching Lord Armster's whilst she added quietly. "I am glad to see you."

The pale nobleman bowed his head, his voice softening upon hearing her tender acknowledgement. "And I shall always be glad to see you. If you are not too tired, would you sit with me by the fire tonight? Regretfully, I am having trouble sleeping."

The lady paused, glancing between them. Walter watched her with growing interest, his lips forming a frown when she forced her lips into a smile. "Yes, milord. I have spent far too little time with you as of late. Please forgive me."

The iciness in the pale nobleman's eyes slowly receded. With a gracious smile, he nodded. His voice lowered to a gentle whisper. "I look forward to it. I must speak with Lord Bernhard, now. I shall be along in a moment."

The red-haired lord's eyes flashed a tint of red when the pale nobleman lifted her hand and kissed it. Instead of shrinking back, she bowed her head and swept inside. Within moments, her grey form disappeared from sight. Walter stared after her, his displeasure growing at her acceptance of Lord Armster's tenderness. Upon her leaving, Lord Armster's attention shifted.

The pale nobleman's voice regained its familiar coldness. "My lady speaks highly of you. I, on the other hand, do not see in you what she does."

"I see." Walter's fine lips formed a sardonic grin. Ignoring the other lord's brusqueness, he cocked his head and guided his equine closer. Atop his horse, his frame appeared even more imposing. To his delight, Lord Armster did not move. He had hoped the pale nobleman would refuse in order to assess his nerve. As expected, the white-haired lord's obstinacy did not disappoint. "Be that as it may," he added. "I have returned the lady unharmed."

"You best not even _consider_ dishonoring her." The white-haired lord snapped.

"Do not underestimate her dedication to you, Lord Armster." Walter replied, his smirk broadening at the sight of the man's ebbing temper. "I heard you are a fine warrior…far better than most, in fact. The lady fears for you, as she should. A man as respected and skilled as you must have plenty of enemies who might cause you or, _God forbid_ her, harm."

Lord Armster's sapphire colored eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "I will cut down anyone who would dare."

"I am sure you would." Walter tossed his head. A low, amused chuckle vibrated from his throat whilst he added. "Lady Rohesia is as beautiful as she is cunning. I would not dream of tempering her spirit…and neither should you, Lord Armster."

"Do not try my patience, Lord Bernhard." The white-haired nobleman's hand balled into a fist. "There is _nothing_ I would not do for her."

"Of course." Walter remarked; his penetrating eyes not leaving the other lord for a moment. With a curt nod, he added. "You best not keep her waiting, then. I wish you a good evening, Lord Armster."

Before the other lord could reply, Walter turned and rode off into the night.


	6. Confessions

**Chapter 6**

Wiedenheim was a small, prosperous town located north of Eternal Night. Its economy primarily depended upon mead production and raw lumber as it was surrounded by several large forests and rivers. These same forests offered his monsters vital concealment – making it the perfect location for his game. His only regret was that he had not tried the mead before deciding to dispose of its inhabitants.

Though heavy wooden doors barred entry into the town at night, they may as well have not existed at all to one such as he. With a low chuckle, he approached the gates and extended his arm outward in front of him. He made a sideways motion; prompting three cracked red spheres to appear in midair before him. He sent them into the gates and stepped back, his eyes glinting in amusement when the objects exploded and set the wood alight.

Walter withdrew into the nearby trees and waited. A column of grey smoke filtered into the black sky above, causing the townspeople to wake. His superior hearing enabled him to detect the footsteps of several people approaching the entrance. As they neared, he held his head high and snapped his fingers. The sharp, sudden sound prompted his zombies to slowly emerge from their positions within the forest. Twenty of the creatures had accompanied him from the castle. Their half-rotten bodies buzzed with swarms of flies as they trudged languidly forth. Dead grey skin hung loosely from their decaying arms and faces. What little clothing remained on their bodies hung in tattered dirty brown strips. The creatures extended their arms outward, eager to grasp at anything unfortunate enough to enter their path.

The creatures lurched toward the town gate, undoubtedly alerted by the humans hiding behind them. By the time the monsters reached the entrance, the wood was black from fire. The charred remains fell on the ground – creating noticeable gaps that enabled him to see the humans crowded behind it. As their only defense burned away, his undead army relentlessly beat their fists against the fiery structure. The creatures moaned as fire engulfed their decomposing forms. Walter estimated it would not be long before the citizens, trapped by the town's surrounding stone walls with its sole entrance blocked, would succumb to the undead.

He could have sacked the town himself, but he thought it would be much more exciting to let his monsters do the work for him. He also vowed to only witness the game and had agreed to refrain from participating – at least directly. Thus, he remained in the trees, content that he had fulfilled his requirement. Of course, he did not _have_ to light the gates on fire. Had he chosen not to, it might have taken the creatures hours, if not days, to finally burst through the barricade. He assured himself that he had been merciful by expediting the populace's inevitable deaths.

Within a short time, terrified screams and cries filled the night.

* * *

As he did not know which room was hers, he flew along the western side of the manor; landing upon each window ledge so he could peer inside. After trying over twenty, he at last found what he sought. As was still early in the evening, the lady and her attendants were still awake. Though his eyes were smaller in bat form, he saw perfectly within the darkness. He pressed his fur-covered face against the windowpane to obtain a better view of the room.

A carrot-haired attendant, having just finished plaiting and styling the woman's hair into an elaborate bun, walked to a large wardrobe on the opposite side of the large chamber. Her long, ginger hair was plaited into a thick French braid tied with a satin ribbon. Numerous light freckles speckled the tops of her cheekbones. The woman looked over her shoulder at Lady Rohesia, her eyes widening in apprehension. "Are you certain you wish to wear something different to confession?" Whilst opening the wardrobe, revealing over a dozen long, colored dresses hanging within it, she continued. "You know he prefers grey, milady."

Seated upon the edge of a large framed bed, Lady Rohesia shrugged. "Always, grey. I grow tired of wearing what he likes. There must be at least fifty-one shades of grey in my wardrobe. For once, let us choose something I like. What say you, Justine?"

"You should wear the pink one!" The little girl grinned from ear to ear. Without hesitating, she ran to the wardrobe and began rummaging through the garments, like one searching for a lost treasure.

Lady Rohesia laughed, shaking her head. "The pink one? God's nails, no!"

"Milady!" The carrot-haired servant shook her head. "Where did you learn such foul language? Your mother would certainly not approve."

The woman smirked. Whilst fidgeting uncomfortably with her hair, her voice softened. "My mother is not here, is she?" She rose from the bed; her pale eyes staring at the floor as if something interesting had caught her attention. With a heavy sigh, she approached a small bookshelf beside the window and knelt in front of it. While scanning the shelves numerous leather-bound books, she lifted her hands and fidgeted with her ornately styled bun again. Seemingly unused to having her hair plaited and bound, she frowned.

Now nearer to him, Walter stared at the graceful curve of her neck. As he was also unused to her hair being styled in such a manner, he tried to avoid letting his eyes linger for too long. Her neck, smooth and milk-white in the moonlight, unwittingly called his attention. He had forgotten to feed before seeking her out. Fully aware of his error, he hopped back from the window to distance himself without leaving entirely. He watched the lady reach for several books arranged on the bottom shelf.

Whilst removing the books and setting them in a stack on the floor, she continued. "My older sister has quite a vocabulary, as well as… 'unique' tastes. She gifted that ugly pink thing to me last year for my birthday. I tried to hide it so neither of you would-"

"Found it!" Like a lion dragging a prized catch, Justine pulled the large, pale pink gown from the wardrobe. The gown's frilly skirt splayed across the floor. Numerous lace details adorned the garment's long, bell shaped sleeves and square neckline. Nearly jumping in excitement, the little girl spun around with the dress in her arms, nearly tripping over its skirt. "You would look like a princess in this dress; the kind papa tells me about in his stories! Maybe you could go to Lord Walter's castle and live there?"

"What if I do not want to be a princess?" Lady Rohesia replied, her voice lightening at the child's excitement. Giving the frilly pink garment an unimpressed glance, she returned her attention to her books. With a smile, she reached to the back of the shelf and withdrew a small, brown leather-bound one hidden in an alcove behind a false backing. After removing it, she flipped it open – scanning its ornate, hand-drawn illustrations and inky black handwriting. From his vantage point, he could not discern the book's subject matter, though her mischievous expression revealed all he needed to know. Whilst flipping through the book, she added softly. "The only place I wish to go is home. I know Lord Armster is intercepting my sister's letters. Perhaps, Father Genesio will help me contact her if I speak with him on the matter?"

"Father Genesio?" The carrot-haired servant scoffed. "The whole village will know what you are doing before dawn; that nosy churl cannot keep anything secret. He's been telling everyone Cardinal Michael intends to promote him to bishop!"

"I know, but perhaps I can convince him…just this once."

"You would have an easier time convincing a harlot to become a nun." The woman chuckled.

"What if I paid him for his silence? I still have some coin from when I left England. Though he claims to value prudence, I noticed him wearing a new pair of boots at mass last Sunday…"

"Do not even consider that." The ginger-haired servant warned. "He would tell everyone how he 'piously' refused Satan's bribery, just to make himself look better to Cardinal Michael. I doubt Lord Armster would be pleased to hear of it."

"I know Lord Armster sends me to confession to obtain information from Father Genesio. The fool can't even keep _confession_ a secret."

"How on earth did you uncover that?" The carrot-haired woman's green eyes widened.

With a cheeky grin, the lady returned to the bed and sat down. Shaking her head, she replied. "I caught Lord Armster looking through my book collection. When I asked what he was doing, he said he wished to ensure I was not reading anything of a 'sinful' nature. Of course, merely a few days prior, I purposely confessed to reading an obscene book. I told Father Genesio the book gave me sinful thoughts. He wanted to know _every _detail. I told him of the drawings featuring men and women, of the ecstasy I felt upon seeing such images, and my yearning to relinquish chasteness for sin. He was utterly fascinated by it – he even asked what positions they were in and how long I pleasured myself to their images!"

"Zounds!" The carrot-haired servant gasped. Then, her face reddened. "I mean - what? You surely did not-"

"Oh, I most surely did." The lady's smirk broadened. "It was quite salacious. The more out of control I seemed, the more details he wanted. He even asked how large their breasts were 'as large bosoms indicate a greater likelihood of sinfulness.'"

The servant woman burst into a fit of laughter. "You are scandalous! Surely, he should have known you were merely jesting!" The lady fell into silence, her lips still pressed into a smirk. When she neither acknowledged or denied it, the servant's mouth fell agape. "No! You did not! Ladies are not supposed to read such things! Where did you even get that book?"

"I, like many, have my ways." With a shrug, she glanced at the book on her lap. "I used to hide it on top of my bookshelf by the wall. Within a week, it was gone. I bet Lord Armster enjoys it more than I – or at least, that is my hope."

"Wait," The servant held up a hand, "You purposely set that up so he would find it? Are you mad?"

"Quite the contrary." The lady replied, her casual voice indicating it was of little concern. "I wanted him to find it. When he is not talking about me, he talks about God's will – and his desire that I remain chaste for _him_, like a 'gift' only he can open. I doubt Lord Armster has bedded a woman in his life. He likely has no idea how to please one, let alone what the act itself looks like. I hoped such 'high literature' would retain his attention, for I would rather he read that, than set his sights upon me."

Walter's tiny lips formed a smirk – or at least, what may have been one, given he was not in human form. Matters concerning female pleasure were so seldomly discussed, he somewhat pitied the creatures' reluctance to acknowledge or act upon their instincts.

"What does chaste mean?" Justine asked, her bright, chestnut eyes blinking in childish obviousness.

Without hesitating, the carrot haired servant answered. "It means to be good and pure, as God intends."

"No." Lady Roheisa's brow furrowed. "It means a woman must do as she is told, lest she ruin herself and her reputation. To know love without marriage is somehow to ruin oneself."

"Let us find you a dress, milady." Attempting to guide the conversation to its original topic, the servant nervously returned to the wardrobe.

Unconvinced by the lady's rejection of the pink gown, the little girl clutched the garment to her chest. "I like this one!"

"When you are older, I shall give it to you, then." Lady Rohesia smiled. "I think it would look lovelier on you, Justine."

"Really?" The girl's eyes brightened. Almost unable to speak, she lifted it up proudly in front of her. Amazement swept across the child's face as she spun around with the dress once again, allowing its long, frilled skirt to fan out until she stopped, and made a deep, grateful bow. "But…your sister gave it to you! Won't she be sad?"

"It will be some time before you are old enough to wear it." The lady remarked. "If…I see my sister…I will gladly wear it, for her. That dress is all I have of her until I see her again…_if_ I see her again…" A soft sigh escaped her lips and she lowered her head. Seemingly desperate to turn her attention to something else, she continued flipping through the book on her lap.

"How about this one?" The freckled servant pulled a plain, forest-green velvet gown from the wardrobe.

Lady Rohesia observed the garment, her eyes tracing its high, covered neckline and gold trim. After considering it a moment, she shook her head. "Too boring."

"_Boring_?" The carrot-haired woman repeated, her voice straining with disagreement. "It is very appropriate for confession. I think it best you adopt a more virtuous appearance, given the outrageous information you told Father Genesio last time."

"Whatever for?" The lady huffed. "He already thinks I am a sinner. Might as well look like one, too."

"Milady!" The servant scolded. "Lord Armster would surely not approve. Perhaps, he would even withdraw his proposal-"

"What a brilliant suggestion!" The woman's eyes widened. Nearly leaping off the bed, she rushed to the wardrobe and rummaged through it. Without so much as a backward glance at the servant's aghast expression, she flung several dresses onto the floor. After a few moments, a large, messy assortment of garments – mostly grey or variations of grayish white - littered the floor at her feet. Before the servant could object, the lady withdrew an elaborate, lilac colored dress from the wardrobe and held it up. "This one!"

"That one?" The carrot-haired woman gasped. "Milady, no! Lord Armster would not approve-"

"Precisely." The lady's smirk reappeared. "It is perfectly appropriate for confession. Help me get dressed; it has quite a long corset down the back that shall be no easy feat to tie."

"I want to tie it!" The child exclaimed, her voice rising in excitement as she observed the satiny, lilac gown.

The carrot-haired servant gave the child an irritated look. "Last time you tied Lady Rohesia's dress, you knotted all its tresses terribly! It took me at least an hour to get all of them out, child. Perhaps, this time, you can _help_ me tie it." Then, turning to the lady, the servant bowed her head. "Are you certain you want _this_ dress?" She asked again, as if doing so would suddenly change the woman's mind. "Lord Armster will have a fit! I know he can be…_difficult_…but he is very dedicated to God – and you, milady."

"Be that as it may, I wish to wear this, tonight. I have worn grey, silver, silvery-grey, ash, greyish-white, and silvery-greyish-ash-white for almost six months at his behest. I am attending confession. Should he try to reprimand you or Justine, I will tell him this was _my_ decision."

"As you wish, milady." The servant reluctantly accepted the dress and led the woman to the furthest side of the room. Some time passed. The child and servant woman assisted her with the garment's many layers like sous chefs decorating a cake.

Walter continued watching them through the window, the sight of the lady as she changed clothes obscured by the servant and child standing around her. The woman's subtle defiance prompted his lips to draw back into a somewhat unnerving smile. Since he was in bat form, his grinning expression revealed his tiny, razor-sharp teeth and fangs. As always, the lady never failed to entertain him. Though the game had not formally commenced, he would bless her with his presence once more that evening to assure her – as well as himself - of its inevitability.

Now primped, tucked, and tied, the lady shuffled toward her chamber door, the dress' lilac colored skirt trailing behind her as she went. Before she could open the door, the carrot-haired servant called out. "Wait, milady! We have not yet put on your couvre-chef!"

"Oh, I shall not need that tonight." The lady, attempting to leave before the servant could object, paused when the other woman flew to the door and placed a hand insistently upon it.

"Please, milady. At least _look_ like you give a damn about piousness – for my sake."

Giving the servant an annoyed look, the woman paused at the door. Upon turning around, Walter's eyes widened. The lilac dress she had chosen boasted a visibly low décolleté; revealing the supple curve of her shoulders and smooth, fair chest. As her hair was styled up, her dress' revealing neckline was noticeable. "Very well." She sighed, allowing the other woman to wrap the pale grey garment over her head and neck. "It's not that I do not care; it's that I am tired of being _told_ to."

Giving the lady a soft smile, the servant bowed her head. "I understand, milady. Though I am not your sister, I hope I have provided some comfort. I know it is difficult being so far away from home."

"I am grateful for your service." The lady bowed in return, her voice softening. "If I can return, you and your husband shall accompany me. There are more opportunities in England than here. You could farm, live on my father's estate, or become a dressmaker for the wealthy. Though you did not want me to wear this, _you_ made it."

"Alas, I did." The servant shook her head, her lips pressing into a shy smile. "Now I must witness the results of my decision. When I make your wedding dress, I will ensure it does not show so much of your…_beauty_, milady."

"_If_ you make it." Lady Rohesia remarked. "That has not yet come to pass. If I can contact my sister, she will send someone for me, I have no doubt."

The servant's voice fell quiet. "He loves you, milady. In his own way, of course, but he does. I see it in his eyes whenever he speaks your name. A love so profound is not easily defeated. Lord Armster would never allow it."

"We will see about that." Unwilling to speak on the matter further, the lady turned to depart the room – the book firmly clutched in her hand like a prize. "Father Genesio is so long-winded, I shall come prepared this time."

"What book is that?"

"Why, Greek gods and legends, of course!" The woman held it up. With a proud grin, she opened it and showed the servant its many drawings featuring muscular, powerful Gods and graceful, lithe goddesses. "These gods seem more real than our God – in some ways."

"Milady, surely you do not mean that? If Father Genesio heard such blasphemy-"

"I did not say they _are_ real." She corrected. "Unlike God, the Greek gods are imperfect. Perhaps, that is what I admire most about them. Unlike many holy men, they do not pretend to be anything except themselves. They have their good and ills like us. Admittedly, I find their stories equally fascinating."

"If Father Genesio catches you reading that, he will give you an earful!"

"I_f_ he catches me." The woman's smile broadened. Then, tucking the book tightly under her arm, she left the room, with Justine following closely behind. As the woman's voice grew faint, he overheard her tell the child. "_Justine, should he see me leave, I ask you to do as we discussed_…"

When she was no longer in sight, Walter flew from his perch on the ledge and circled the manor. A gust of wind carried him higher into the sky; enabling him to see the estate in its entirety. The moment she left her lord's watchful eye, he would seek her out, as he always did. Whilst he waited, the stable boy approached on horseback and came to a halt just outside the manor entrance. The horse, a silver colored equine like the others in its master's collection, flicked its long, silky tail. Whilst standing with the boy, the beast tossed its head and pawed impatiently at the ground; its restlessness reflecting his own. The horse, somewhat smaller and more delicate than others he had seen, boasted powerful, rippling muscles and a sleek, glossy coat, attesting meticulous care and attention. He knew not if the stable boy, or the lady herself, was responsible – until a few moment later.

Lady Rohesia's lilac-colored form emerged from the manor. As expected, Lord Armster armor-clad form trailed behind. Upon sighting her horse, the woman's sullenness gave way to fleeting delight. Seemingly oblivious of the lord's presence, she swept toward the beast, her long, lilac dress fluttering behind her whilst she rushed to greet it and the stable boy. "Good evening, Devon," She smiled. "How is your face healing? I hope you have fully recovered?"

"Good evening, milady – and yes, I have." The youth removed his hat and bowed. "Your horse, milady."

"You mean, _Selene_." She replied, stroking the horse's soft, silky neck.

Before she could mount the beast, Lord Armster's deep, cold voice bellowed.

"Where are you going wearing _that_? Surely you shall not enter God's house dressed like a-"

"Whore?" She accused, giving the man a scathing look. "Is that what you think of me?"

"Do not be ridiculous!" The crusader fumed. "I would never marry a whore, but I do expect a woman to dress appropriately. That garment you are wearing is far too…" He paused, seemingly uncertain how to phrase it without offending her. Surprised by his sudden retreat, the woman stopped a few feet ahead and turned to face him. Walter watched Lord Armster's eyes linger upon the woman's décolleté, which her couvre-chef had not fully covered. After drawing a careful breath, he continued. "There is beauty in modesty, Arabella. Though you are lovely, I do not wish others to see what is intended for I, alone."

"Not everything is about you, milord." The woman huffed. "Perhaps, you shall never see it? Perhaps, it shall be for _someone else_ to see one day? Someone other than _you_."

"That shall not happen." The pale lord's eyes narrowed. One of his gauntlet-encased hands formed a fist. "Rest assured, I shall speak with Father Genesio to ensure you went to confession, and not Lord Bernhard's castle."

"Stop obsessing over him!" She snapped. "I do not look upon Lord Bernhard fondly, either."

"And why is that?" He asked – his anger temporarily giving way to curiosity. "You _begged_ me to let you visit him."

"Oh, please, you know I do not beg for anything…except to return to my family, which you refuse." Laughing at his displeasure, she tore the couvre-chef away from her face and playfully tossed the grey-colored scarf his way – exposing her bare shoulders and fair neck to his prying gaze. Ignoring his question, she added. "If you do not stop interrogating me, I shall be late for confession. Isn't that a sin, milord?"

"So is dressing in a manner that would make Mary Magdalene blush." Lord Armster snipped, drawing back when the scarf hit him in the face. He stormed toward her, his anger catching her off guard. Before she could withdraw, the pale nobleman snatched her by the wrist and yanked her forward. Whilst grasping her wrist firmly in his hand, he pulled her close, his white hair cascading around his ashen face. "The last person who threw something at me had his head smote clean off. Whereas the east is merciless, God – and I – are not. Tis' not ladylike to behave in such a manner."

"Tis' not ladylike to ride a horse, yet you taught me, anyway." She whispered, her voice quavering as she looked up at his severe expression. Fear replaced the woman's former anger instantly.

When her eyes met his, his grip upon her wrist loosened – somewhat. Giving her an apologetic look, he bowed his head. "Indeed…because I care for you. Only you."

"You care only for _yourself_." She looked away, avoiding his piercing gaze, whilst subtly freeing herself from his grip. "I want to see my sister again! Why do you refuse?"

"Because you refuse _me_." He snipped. "Accept me, and I _may_ consider."

"It is not for _you_ to consider! God's wounds! You are a cold, hypocritical son of a-"

"_What_ did you say?" The pale nobleman's eyes widened. Nearly trembling in rage, he stepped toward her once again. "You will not use that language in my presence!"

"Well, I just did!"

"How dare you injure God with such disrespect! If you acted like a woman, rather than a child-"

Before she could retort, a loud, piercing wail shattered their argument as if it were made of glass. Within moments, Justine's screaming and crying form appeared in the manor doorway. Tears spilled down the child's face as she screamed and hollered.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" With a snarl, the pale nobleman whirled to face the young girl. "Stop this at once! When the little girl's screaming continued, Lord Armster stomped toward her, the soles of his steel-clad boots clipping loudly against the ground. "Enough! If you do not cease this at once, I shall give you a whipping your father would be envious of, little wretch!"

"You will do no such thing!" The lady shouted after him. "You shall not lay a finger on her. If you touch her, I shall never look upon you again! A true man of God does not whip a child."

"_Spare the rod; spoil the child_." Lord Armster snapped. The man's fine lips curled as he reached for the little girl – and missed. As quickly as she appeared, the child's crying ceased, and she scurried off into the manor like a fox fleeing a hound. Quiet giggles fled the girl's throat as she hurried off in search of refuge among the other servants. "Get back here at once!" Lord Armster shouted, his voice rising as he swept toward the manor.

"She serves _me_, not you." The lady retorted. Then, casting him a parting glare, she turned to her horse and mounted it. "I would rather not hear Father Genesio lecture me on the sin of slothfulness. As promised, I shall return in haste afterwards. Good evening, milord."

Then, with nary another word, she urged her horse into a canter and departed down the road.

Walter waited until she was well out of sight of the manor before showing himself. As was his habit, he swooped onto the road a way ahead and shifted back into human form. Not wanting to startle her horse, he waited for her in the middle of the road – ensuring the animal sensed his presence long before she. As she neared, the horse pricked its ears forward and emitted a low, uneasy whicker. The creature slowed to a cautious walk, its nervousness drawing the woman's attention. "What's wrong, Selene?" She asked, leaning forward and giving the mare a pat on its shoulder. Then, sighting him up the road, her eyes widened. She tugged on the reigns, urging the horse to an immediate halt. Though he was still far up the road, she fell completely still, her large, grey-blue eyes locked upon him like a startled doe. After hesitating a moment, she urged the mare forward once again.

As the creature reluctantly obeyed, she glared at him. Her voice, once soft and whispering, addressed him with unusual coldness. "Do you always appear uninvited, Lord Bernhard?" She asked. Not bothering to bow her head or even grace him with a smile, she huffed. "I have had enough conflict this evening."

"Indeed, you have, milady." The red-haired lord swept a low, mocking bow. Upon straightening, he flicked his cape as the wind tickled the strands of his rich, crimson hair. His pale face, its deathly whiteness starker in the nearly full moon, gleamed eerily in the darkness. When she refused to halt her horse for him, merely continuing past him without a second glance, he added slyly. "Your dress is quite…_fetching_, Lady Rohesia. Tired of grey, I assume? T'was out of fashion years ago."

Still refusing to look at him, she continued onward, her voice calling back with mock civility. "I am more tired of you, than the color."

"Forgive my assumption." He smirked. "Off to confession like a good Christian?"

"I would ask the same of you, if I did not know better." She remarked, staring ahead at the village. Whilst the equine walked, Walter followed at length behind – keeping a respectful distance, like a wolf stalking prey. He watched her reach for her ornately styled bun. With a sigh, she removed the delicate clips and pins from her hair, her fingers impatiently unwinding the plaits until, at last, layers of her thick, golden hair tumbled down her backside and hung loosely around her delicate frame. Despite her feigned calm, she tensed. "What are you doing here? If anyone should attend confession, it is you."

Walter chuckled. "Were I to go, the priest would be long dead before I finished."

"Would you care to go instead of I?" A dry, emotionless laugh escaped her throat. "I did not expect your game would begin so soon. Have you come for me, at last? Lord Armster is in a rather foul mood this evening. Perhaps, he would not bother playing."

"Oh, I am certain he shall, when the time comes."

"So, why are you here?" She asked once again, her patience giving way to frustration. As they walked down the village's quiet, cobblestone street, she added. "If you are not here for that, you have no business with me. Be gone!"

"I would prefer to stay and chat." He chuckled again, ignoring her rebuke. His tall, imposing form followed her like a dark shadow. "I just happened to be out on a midnight stroll. Imagine my luck when you came along? What a pleasant coincidence."

"Nothing is coincidence with _you_." She snipped – at last, daring to look over her shoulder at him. Though somewhat elevated upon her horse, she was almost at the red-haired lord's eye-level. "I doubt you want to go to confession with me. Father Genesio is expecting me. I shan't be going to your castle tonight, Lord Bernhard. After what you said during my last visit, I am uncertain I want to see you again."

"Oh, come now, it was all in a bit of _fun_." The red-haired lord waved his hand dismissively. "I had a small errand to run beforehand. Good things come to those who wait, after all."

"I would hardly describe it as such." She shook her head. "Nor am I waiting for _you_."

"'Good' is merely a matter of perspective, milady."

"As is decency, apparently."

Giving her a somewhat annoyed look, he shrugged and tossed his head. Coils of deep, crimson hair tumbled across his broad shoulders and waved gently in the wind. Feigning disinterest, his eyes caught sight of the large, imposing cathedral ahead. Located on the opposite side of the village, the building's grand stone architecture and religious symbols confronted them. He glared at the statue of an angel perched above the building's arched entrance, disliking its unrealistically perfect proportions and serene, emotionless gaze. "God's house, as humans call it, is certainly less _entertaining_ than mine."

"Why? Because unlike yours, those who enter leave _alive_?" She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Heaven forbid, not everyone believes you are a god, Lord Bernhard."

"I do not need to be a god, for I already _am_ one." Without looking at her, he stopped at length away from the building, his eyes narrowing. Then, sighting the book clutched in her arm, he added. "Ah, what are you reading now, little songbird? I heard you telling someone you enjoy Greek legends. Though I am not mentioned in that book, I ought to be on the first page."

"Heard, or _overheard_?" Upon dismounting, she placed her hands on her hips. Her voice rose. "Have you got nothing better to do? Did you watch me change, as well? What else did you happen to 'hear,' milord?" Redness appeared in her cheeks as she tucked the book against her side and turned to the church.

"Now, now," He assured, his amusement growing upon seeing her visible anger. "I prefer to leave _some_ things to the imagination. My interest primarily lay in you, not your body. If I wanted that, I would have had it by now."

"You shall just have to keep _imagining_, then." Refusing to face him, she walked toward the church, her dress sweeping behind her. As she went, he thought he heard her mutter '_bastard'_ under her breath but could not be certain. Unsurprised by her coldness, he watched her ascend the church's small, stone staircase. Then, looking over her shoulder once more, she huffed. "I hope you enjoy dancing over the fires of hell when your game ends."

"Perhaps, you shall lead? It does require a _partner_." The red-haired lord retorted with a look of feigned offence. "Confessing to a human – even a priest – shall not save you or your lord."

"I did not say I am confessing to be saved." She corrected. "For life is a misery I am unworthy of escaping."

The woman's visible sorrow stunned him. Realizing the gravity of his injury to her soul, he softened his approach – somewhat. His smirk faded into seriousness. "I was beginning to enjoy your presence, Lady Rohesia. Alas, all good things must come to an end."

"Goddamn it!" The woman yelled, her voice disrupting the village's sleepy peacefulness. "Do you _ever_ think about anyone but yourself? The game has not commenced, yet you have already predicted its outcome! God's wounds, nails, arm, face, and _whatever else_ He has-"

"Do my ears deceive me?" Before she continued, a tall, portly man wearing a black cassock, tied at the waist by a tattered brown rope, appeared behind her. Though appearing in his mid to late thirties; noticeable lines framed the corners of his mouth and nose. His prematurely graying black hair, and small, sharp eyes drew their attention. Despite his somewhat foreboding appearance, his unexpectedly shrill voice possessed an inflexion that made his every word seem questioning. Before she could reply, he glared at her condescendingly. "Did you just speak _every single body part_ of the Lord in vain, Lady Rohesia? Such things are not fit for a woman's tongue!"

"As I have come for confession, perhaps, you could forgive me now, Father?" Unconcerned about the man's anger, she rolled her eyes. "Surely, a woman's words could not harm the almighty God?"

"Sacrilege injures your soul, which in turn, injures our Lord!" The man snapped, taking swift notice of her disdain. With an impatient huff, the priest reached for the wooden cross hung about his neck and held it up. "Jesus gave his life for you, and you repay his sacrifice with a foul tongue? You will repent for your sin, Lady Rohesia! Since confession is a private affair, you shall come with me and explain yourself at once!" Finally, taking notice of the stranger standing at the base of the church's stone staircase, he cocked his head. His dark, sharp eyes locked with the red-haired lord, noting the stranger's subtle amusement. With shrewish enthusiasm, he turned his attention to the red-haired gentleman. "Lady Rohesia did not mention a _man_ was accompanying her to confession this evening?"

"I am not here to confess." Upon seeing the priest's confusion, Walter smirked.

"You do not wish to be forgiven for your sins?" The priest asked, his curiosity fading to vexation.

"I do not require it." The red-haired lord waved him away like a buzzing fly.

"Such imprudence!" The priest's dark eyes narrowed. "Who is this man, Lady Rohesia? He is not your husband, yet he hath accompanied you. God would not approve: _Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous_."

Walter laughed, interrupting the silence that followed. "I should have expected no less from a _holy_ man-"

"I beg your pardon, Father, but Lord Bernhard merely accompanied me." The lady quickly interrupted, her voice rising with impatience. Then, giving the red-haired lord a scathing look, she added. "Lord Bernhard rules a tiny little insignificant castle in a domain not far from here. No one knows or cares where it is, though he very much thinks they should. Like Lazarus, he refuses to allow death to _inconvenience_ him, for he would rather inconvenience everyone else."

Walter huffed, his eyes tinting a shade of red. "If you forgive her for anything, priest, may it be that – for she is _sorely_ mistaken."

Unwilling to listen to either of them, the priest returned his remark with a glare. "I know not what is going on here, but you both best ask God's forgiveness for the sin of temptation! I have other responsibilities to attend to in the name of the church, besides _your_ pointless bickering."

"Ah, like polishing those new boots, I suppose?" The woman smirked, her eyes glancing deliberately at the man's feet. The new, clean leather noticeably contrasted the man's cassock. "Brown, Father? Black would have matched your robes perfectly – as well as your new ones, should you be appointed."

"Not should, child, _when_." The man scowled. "And when that time comes, as I expect it will, you best mind your tongue. I thought Lord Armster would have watched you more closely. Yet, here you are, accompanied by a strange man-"

"If it matters, I did not ask him to accompany me?" She replied. "Nor do I require _minding_, Father, for we are all sinners."

"Satan does not need permission to tempt you, Lady Rohesia." The priest snipped whilst giving the red-haired lord a disapproving look. Seeming to know his objections would have little affect upon the red-haired lord, he returned his attention to the woman. A hint of a smile appeared upon his lips as he looked at her; the earnestness in his gaze opposing his disapproving facade. "Is that sinful book still sullying your mind, child?"

"My mind is full of impure thoughts." The woman replied, bowing her head. Through the curtains of long, golden hair, Walter noticed her lips form a broad grin. "Alas, I am a sinner needing your forgiveness, Father. I should not speak of such things again, though-"

"No, no, milady." The priest insisted, his voice regaining its former calm. "_I_ – I mean, _God_ \- needs your full confession to forgive you. Let us go, now, and you can tell me _everything_."

"Before I do," she paused, seeming to consider her words carefully. "I wish to ask you something, Father."

"Go on?" The man raised an eyebrow impatiently. Somewhat annoyed by her delay, his lips curled.

"I have a letter for my sister," She continued. "I ask...no, I _implore_, your assistance. I fear her letter shall be – how shall I say – _misplaced_ during its journey. Can you help me get it to her? It is very important."

"I suppose, I could." The priest mused, twiddling the cross around his neck like a child with a toy. "As you know, Cardinal Michael finally recognized my devoutness to God and His followers. I shall soon be an important man, with many connections-"

"Can you help me sooner?" She asked. "I beseech your consideration!"

Like a king before a serf, the priest tutted. "_Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer._"

Walter rolled his eyes. "If you expect a holy man to help you, the second coming of Christ shall occur well before _he_ lifts a finger."

The priest shot him a repugnant look. When it seemed another argument would begin, the lady flung the church doors open and bowed her head. "Forgive him, father, for pride blinds him from seeking God's love. He is also a blasphemous cad, a narcissistic fool-born toad, a vain rump-fed codpiece, a-"

"Enough, child!" The priest, nearly fuming, followed the lady in quick succession. "For every foul thing that hath come from your mouth, you shall repent with a hundred Hail Mary's!"

"Better a hundred of those, than a hundred of _him_. I would be bereft of every insult known to man-"

Before she could finish, the church doors slammed shut behind them.

Undeterred by her cheek, the red-haired lord loitered outside. He would not enter the house of God, for he disliked the prying eyes of angels. The strong odor of incense also gave him _almost_ as severe a headache as the woman. His eyes flickered whilst he pictured her sitting in a confessional, describing every lustful detail of her forbidden desires to the priest's keen pleasure. She _enjoyed_ tormenting the Father and lord. Undoubtedly, the priest's gossiping tongue regaled the pale nobleman with descriptions of deep yearning, lustful fantasies, and virginity ripe for the taking.

Some time passed before the lady reappeared, unaccompanied by the priest. To his surprise, her face wore a mask of enraged amusement. As she hurried down the church steps, she proudly held up her book. Her pale, grey-blue eyes locked upon him; seeking out his attention, despite her earlier rejection of it. "I would rather confess to you than that wretched man!" She seethed. Then, switching quickly to a look of pretend shame, she stopped before him and bowed her head. Her voice filled with feigned regret as she made the sign of a cross and said. "Bless me, Lord Bernhard, for I have sinned."

Walter cocked his head, uncertain what sort of game she was playing. His lips formed a broad grin whilst he bowed his head, curtaining his amusement behind the coils of his thick, red hair. "How long has it been since your last confession, milady?"

The woman chuckled. "Less than five minutes, milord."

Returning her chuckle, the red-haired lord brought a hand to his chin. "I see. What are your sins?"

Drawing a breath, the lady replied. "Father Genesio caught me reading during confession and was _most_ displeased."

"Is that all?"

After a long pause, she looked him in the eye and said. "I told Father Genesio I _like_ you, despite your sinfulness. I said Jesus spent most of his company with sinners, so why can't I? He chastised me for desiring the company of another man_. _I begged him to ask Cardinal Michael to send Lord Armster to the east as soon as possible, for I feel Lord Armster would be safer battling heathens, than facing the demons of hell, here."

"I see…" Walter's lips curled. Unsurprised by her attempt to circumvent his authority, he sneered. "And what did Father Genesio say to that? Did he tell you to leave your lord's fate in God's hands? Perhaps, he offered you words of false comfort?"

"No." She sighed. "He _laughed_ at me and said the devil hath make me tell lies! I nearly threw my book at him; I was so angry. I swore seven times, apologized, and lied about wanting to go on a pilgrimage to Norway to 'find Jesus as I was filled with too many impure thoughts.'"

Walter laughed. "I do not think Jesus traveled to Norway."

The lady shrugged. "Perhaps not. He told me to look forward to my marriage, for he was delighted to fulfill God's will that Lord Armster and I _shall become one flesh. _I said I did not wish to become 'one flesh' with a man who stole me from my family. I asked him once again to help me deliver the letter for my sister. I wish to leave fate in my own hands, rather than God's. Though he agreed, he demanded I speak a thousand Hail Mary's to repent for my foul tongue."

"Will you do as he demands?" The red-haired lord asked with a smirk.

"I shall not ask God to forgive me for being myself."

"Nor will I." He smiled.


	7. Crusade

**Chapter 7**

With his makeshift coliseum firmly established, it was time to retrieve the lady. The red-haired lord's gloved fingertips tapped the ebony stone. It was no easy feat, even for one such as he, to transform into his most powerful form. He had to picture the monstrous creature in his mind. As he thought on it, his pupils slowly adopted a crimson hue, whilst he felt his arms and legs shift. Very slowly, his entire body disappeared into an inky black shroud. Darkness enveloped him within its remorseless depths. His arms expanded into thick, leathery bat-like wings. His feet grew larger and acquired massive talon-like claws. His glossy crimson hair disappeared and was replaced by black skin whilst his face adopted the grisly visage of a bat-like demon. His dark form blended perfectly into the night and camouflaged his larger size. In this form, he was stronger, faster, and more brutal than any mortal creature. The Ebony Stone beckoned him to satiate his thirst for blood.

He rebuked the stone's dark desire, as far greater interests required his attention that evening.

His massive wings extended outward on either side of his body; each one measuring at least eight feet in length. As he soared through the air, the wind's cold breeze brushed across his skin. The full moon's light cascaded across his blackish skin; causing it to look almost grey in its dim light. Whilst he glided through the starry sky, his darker nature threatened to take hold. It was never satisfied, no matter how many souls it consumed.

After a short time, his eyes caught sight of Creightel. The village was so small that had he not been searching for it; he may have missed it completely. Armster Manor's large structure was easy to spot a short distance away from the main village. To his astonishment, he sighted the lady and Lord Armster walking in one of the fields surrounding the estate. He recognized Lord Armster's abnormally white hair and skin instantly. The man was fully dressed; his silvery robes and armor reflecting the moonlight as he walked slowly in front of her. Despite his good fortune, he suspected they were not outside merely for enjoyment's sake. Without a sound, he swooped lower.

"Are you all right?" Lady Rohesia followed the pale nobleman, her grey-blue eyes wide with concern. She placed a hand on his arm, attempting to draw him back whilst she added gently. "I am not going to leave you outside by yourself. I heard you screaming from the other side of the manor. The servants were frightened beyond comprehension. I do not know what troubles you, Zaviean, but you need not withhold it from me. Tell me what is wrong – perhaps I can help?"

"There is nothing you can do." His fine lips curled into a frown as he looked up at the moon. His ivory hair blew around his paling face and shoulders whilst he continued. "I am not taking that sinful concoction Lord Cronqvist gave me. I will deal with this _myself_."

"Deal with _what_?" She asked, her voice rising with frustration. "Your nightmares are worsening! I thought a short walk outside would calm you…I thought…we could talk before you depart to that godawful war."

"What is there to say?" Seeming to realize his rudeness, he sighed and turned around to face her. In the moonlight, his pale face appeared white. "I do not wish to burden you with my sins. I ask only that you wait for my return...and that you one day realize I am not the monster they say I am. I have fought in God's name and given myself to His will, yet it is not enough for the church. Now, I can only hope it is enough for you."

"Milord…" She tried to smile but the sadness in her eyes made the effort futile. "You are not a monster."

"Then why do you refuse me?" The pale nobleman wrung his hands; his composure fading under her accusing gaze. Despite his bitterness, his voice sounded faint. "When we first met at the christening of Baron Belmont's son, you were the only one who smiled at me. You did not care I was a crusader or a lord. You never once mentioned my appearance. Instead, you only wanted to know about _me_."

"I remember it also." She looked at him thoughtfully, her lips at last forming a slight smile. The man seemed almost illusionary, for his stark, unnaturally white façade gave him a somewhat unnerving magnetism. "You told me about the horses of the east – of their beauty, power and grace. I said I wanted to see one, for I too, love horses. The next day you gave me Selene; the most beautiful mare I had ever seen. You then wrote to me asking if I would visit you."

"And after twenty letters, you finally agreed." A barely visible smile creased the corners of his lips. "Had your father found out I taught you to ride, I surely would have been reprimanded. But it was what you wanted, and I would deny you nothing."

"Except respect." Her voice acquired a coldness rivalling his. "I will never know you, Lord Armster. When I came to visit, you wrote to my father and insisted I stay. You never asked me if I _wanted_ to."

"That is because I knew you would decline." His smile faded. "I had no choice but to ask your father's permission to court you. I wanted you to know me better…but you never came to me. Not even once."

"You did not _tell_ me that you intended to court me!"

"Your father wrote you were a marriageable age and granted my request. That is all I require."

"No, it is not." She snapped, her eyes alight with fury. "You should have told me your intent. Had I known-"

"You would not have visited me."

"You don't know that!" She folded her arms across her chest. "You told my father I _loved_ you and wanted to stay. You had him so convinced that when I tried to write to him, he told me to see where things led. I may have grown to love you, had you given me time…"

The coldness in Lord Armster's eyes momentarily relented. With a sigh, he took her hands in his. "I regret that, Arabella… I was selfish and did not understand. But I do now. I wish to make amends."

Scoffing bitterly, the woman wrenched her hands away. "You asked my father for my hand and said nothing to me until he granted it thinking my love for you was returned. You cannot break me like you would a horse, Lord Armster!"

She backed away from him, her teeth gritted in rage until he continued imploringly. "It does not have to be this way, for I do not _want_ to break you, Arabella. If you would only let me-"

Tired of conversation, Walter swooped down and snatched the lady by the shoulders.

The pale nobleman recoiled in surprise, his sapphire blue eyes widening at the sight of the creature's massive black form. With a slow beat of his wings, the red-haired lord lifted her up – barely avoiding Lord Armster's sword when the man swung at his left wing. With a guttural roar, he ascended into the night sky. His small, blood-red eyes gleamed in the darkness as he carried her out of the crusader's reach. Lady Rohesia flailed and screamed like a fish caught in a net. Yet, she did not fight as hard as a lady might in similar circumstances. She had expected him to initiate a new game – though, perhaps, not in _this_ way.

Lord Armster tore after the beast; his long white hair flying behind him as he ran. "No!" The man's cold voice carried through the darkness. "What in God's name are you? You will not get away so easily!"

Walter ascended higher into the sky. He watched the man hurry back to the estate. Not wanting the lord to lose sight of him, he purposely circled the area and peered at the human's pale form below. Lord Armster stormed toward the stables and emerged a few minutes later on his horse. To ensure the nobleman reached the intended destination, he flew in the direction of Wiedenheim. Even at his slowest pace, he would arrive well in advance. To ensure the pale nobleman's arrival at the town, he had commanded some of his undead to create a trail, of sorts, to greet him along the route.

It was not long before Lord Armster encountered his first undead shambling along the path. Walter led the way high above. The moon illuminated his dark, bat-like form. Though Walter was too high up to see, he smirked to himself – or at least, as well as he could smirk in his current form – when he heard the man cry out in surprise. The white-haired nobleman held his sword out and urged the equine into a full gallop. He used the momentum to drive the steel edge of his sword completely through the corpse. Its decaying severed halves landed on the ground behind him with a heavy thump.

Lord Armster shouted, aghast by the fact he had just sliced a walking corpse in half. "Where are you taking her? Come down and fight me! I will eviscerate your wretched body and mount your head on my wall!"

Walter loved it when they screamed their useless threats at him. The human did not know his true power or what awaited him.

With a loud roar, he soared higher and disappeared into the abyss.

* * *

Walter perched upon the thatched rooftop of an abandoned home. The full moon hung low in the sky that evening; its ethereal form casting pale white streams across the town's cobblestone roads. A gentle breeze played with the strands of his crimson hair and brushed his cloak back. The heavy fabric flapped in the wind; its erratic movements reflecting his restlessness. He situated himself under the shadow of the roof's stone chimney; his presence obscured by surrounding darkness.

As much as he enjoyed his games, he did not want the lady's life cut short by an overly aggressive monster – thus, he remained nearby, silently daring the creatures to try laying a hand upon her. He would have relished the opportunity to tear the disgusting wretches apart, if only for his own entertainment until the true guest of honor arrived. Unlike Eternal Night, where he could preoccupy himself in other areas of the castle while awaiting human challengers, he could not leave his position without risking detection. With a bored sigh, he reached for the bottle of wine he had brought with him. A soft popping sound broke the silence as he pushed the cork from the bottle with his thumb. He poured himself a glass; eager to see the night's entertainment begin before his hunger took hold.

He had set the lady down in the middle of the town's empty square. A single stone fountain bubbled faintly in the darkness. The fountain depicted a statue of a large stone angel surrounding by a circular reservoir. Water flowed from the angel's outstretched hands. The angel's blank, emotionless eyes stared only up, ignoring the woman in favor of the stars.

The red-haired lord watched his undead patrol the town's empty streets. Though he was a relatively safe distance, their putrid stench offended his senses. What they lacked in speed and strength they made up for in their sheer numbers. Although he had considered using skeletons due to their lack of rotting flesh, they did not function well in groups, and were easily knocked to pieces by any manner of weapon. He liked the unthinking simplicity of zombies, as their sole purpose was wandering from one potential meal to the next. Though his castle boasted hundreds of monsters, he was reluctant to trust most of them outside its walls, for their vicious natures inclined them to disobey. Zombies, on the other hand, lacked mental capacity and speed. If any so much as came within a few feet of her, he would have no trouble intervening before they could harm her.

Lord Armster, on the other hand…

Walter smiled in anticipation.

He also planned another 'surprise' for her would-be rescuer. Several of his winged frost demons and gargoyles dropped a mass of boulders in front of the town's fountain where he had deposited the lady. As it had taken the creatures several journeys to bring all the pieces, it was not ready until after her arrival.

He summoned the creature to life with his thoughts. A loud rumbling noise filled the air. The woman backed away, her eyes widening into saucers as brown stone boulders rose off the ground and connected. A few of the boulders had strange metal rods through them. Like a doll assembling before her eyes, the rods inserted themselves into the holes in its stone frame to hold the mass together. Large, ape-like arms overshadowed the creature's smaller head, torso and legs. Two round, glowing red eyes flashed through the darkness from what appeared to be its head. After fully assembling, its hulking frame stomped toward her; shattering the cobblestone beneath its enormous weight. When it seemed as if it would crush her with its massive fists, it came to a halt in front of her. The creature tilted its head; its glowing red eyes focusing upon her small frame.

Despite its lack of a mouth, as well as other discernible features, she stepped cautiously toward it. Her soft voice echoed through the deserted streets; her fear giving way to curiosity. "Who, or _what_, are you? What is your purpose?"

Walter shook his head, wondering why she bothered speaking to the mindless pile of rubble. After centuries of collecting dust in the castle's laboratory, he forgot that the wretch communicated _telepathically_. Though it addressed the woman, he was able to hear its replies as well, as he was its master. The red-haired lord released an irritated sigh. It was going to be a long night.

Its rough, low voice echoed through the red-haired lord's mind._ "Golem will protect lady._"

The woman continued staring up at it. Her astonished expression revealed she had not expected it to answer – but when it did; she resolved to question it further. "What will you do when he finds me?"

After a brief pause, it answered plainly. "_Golem will kill lord."_

Her eyes widened. "Is that because your master told you to? What happened to the people here?"

"_Golem follows master command._"

Horror spread across her face. Without hesitating, she ran around the square, her eyes blazing with fury as she sought the red-haired lord out. Her long, golden hair whipped around her face as she shouted.

"_What have you done?_ Did you kill them _all_? That was _not_ part of our agreement, Lord Bernhard! What gives you the right to play with people's lives? I am not some little porcelain doll for you and Lord Armster to fight over like children!"

Walter's eyes flickered red, whilst his pale lips lifted into a cold sneer. Not wanting to give away his location, he stared down at her emotionlessly. The woman tore around the square, her enraged shouts echoing across the town for several minutes. The Golem, impervious to the scene she was creating, remained unresponsively by the fountain.

Without so much as pausing a moment, she paced around the fountain, her voice rising as she continued. "Is eternity so boring that all you have left are _games_? Tis' truly pathetic you cannot think of anything better to do with your time. It leads me to wonder, if perhaps, you are…_afraid_ of humans?" A soft, mocking chuckle vibrated from her throat. She shook her head, her voice drifting through the deserted square as she hissed. "You use control to cope with fear…but you will _not_ control me, Lord Bernhard!"

Unwilling to listen to her any longer, he relinquished concealment. Anger filtered through his dark, gleaming spheres as he took a sip of wine, his deep, resonant voice startling her when he at last replied. "Foolish woman, I already control you. You are _mine_ until this game is-"

"For God sakes, shut up!" She raised her hand, her pale eyes immediately locking upon his shadowy form on the roof above. Somewhat surprised by her rage, the red-haired lord fell silent. Before he could retort, she stomped her foot, unleashing her full fury upon him. "I am not yours, Lord Armster's, the church's, or anyone's! Before you decided to start this _masterful_ plan of yours, I thought we might learn something from one another. Unfortunately, all I have learned thus far is you are a stubborn ass, an uncouth swag-bellied braggart, a ginger-haired bastard, a pribbling bat-fowling clotpole-"

Incensed by her rebuke, Walter lifted his wine glass and tossed its contents her direction. Wine splattered the thatched roof on which he stood, staining its surface deep, purplish red. With a huff, he flicked his cape, torn between anger and amusement. "My, my, you have quite the tongue, Lady Rohesia. I wonder where a delicate little flower like you learned so speak so? I suppose, you shall learn to use it for _other_ things, should Lord Armster live long enough to demand it."

"Go to hell!" With a loud scoff, she stormed toward a wooden cart filled with cabbage, tomatoes, carrots, and variety of other vegetables at the edge of the square. Likely brought into town and abandoned by its owner when the monsters attacked, its unsold contents had been left to rot. With the fury of a devil, the woman gathered a cabbage and a handful of tomatoes. Upon seeing his smirk, she screamed and flew toward him, nearly tripping over the skirt of her dress as she went. "I trusted you!" While taking a tomato in her right hand, she spat. "To think, I once believed you might show a modicum of decency! Well, _this_ is what I think of you, and your _stupid_ game!"

Chortling at her ridiculousness, he shook his head. "You could not possibly-"

A large ripe tomato hit him square in the forehead. Walter's eyes widened. He stepped back, nearly losing his balance on the rooftop, whilst she pelted him with fruit. Uncertain what to do, as he had not expected such a response, he roared. "Stop that! If you do not, I shall-"

"What?" As his large frame was rather impossible to miss, she managed to send a somewhat hard head of cabbage directly into his shoulder. "What are you going to do?" She tossed another tomato at him. This time, he managed to duck before it could hit him. As the fruit sailed narrowly over his head, she snickered. "If only you could see yourself now! I prefer this new look for you, Lord Bernhard. Your hair matches the tomatoes rather well."

"Enough!" Fully prepared to toss her across the square if she dare throw just _one_ more his way, his eyes burned crimson. Without hesitating, he picked up the piece of cabbage she had thrown and tossed it back with such speed, he may have killed her with it, had he intended to hit _her_. Instead, the vegetable slammed into an undead old man shambling her direction. The creature, oblivious to everything except her living form, fell back onto the ground with a loud thump. Blood seeped onto the cobblestone where its head had once been. Pieces of blood-spattered cabbage scattered the ground around it.

Without batting an eye, he gave the woman a scathing look. "Next time, I shall not miss." He warned.

Walter saw her wide, frightened eyes quickly turn to a glare. "Oh my, whatever shall I do?" Rolling her eyes, she retorted. "If you kill me, Lord Armster will not have a lady to save – not that _I_ am the one who needs saving."

"So be it, then." With a proud huff, he wiped the remnants of splattered tomato off his shoulder and face. "I shall hear no more of your incessant-"

"Well, as you must also wait here for Lord Armster, you will just have to _endure_." She tossed her last tomato his direction.

Walter stepped quickly aside; his dark spheres burning as the object flew past him, landed upon the steep roof, and rolled off.

Not giving a damn about his displeasure, she folded her arms across her chest. With furious exasperation, she observed the stone goliath before her.

"I bet this thing has more feelings than you!" She snipped.

When her eyes met the creature's brilliant red spheres, its rough voice reverberated through his mind.

"_Golem will protect lady. Golem will kill lord._"

"You do not have to kill him!" She pleaded, her voice breaking through the chilling silence surrounding them. Then, after drawing a breath, she reached out and touched the creature's large stone fist - as if confirming within her own mind the certainty of its existence. She frowned while staring up at the golem, attempting to break its unwavering obedience. "I did not want anyone to die! You do not need to suffer for the sake of his game-"

"_Golem follows master's command. Golem will protect lady. Golem will kill lord_."

"Please, you do not have to follow everything your master tells you!"

"_Golem follows master's command. Golem will protect lady. Golem will…kill lord…_"

"You are your _own_ master! You do not have to do what he tells you!"

"_Golem…follows…master's…command. Golem will protect lady. Golem…will…kill…lord…_"

A strange sensation overcame the red-haired lord as he watched the scene unfold. In the past, Walter sensed nothing from the creature, even during its many skirmishes with his human challengers. While in its dormant form as a pile of rock, it had no conscious thought or feeling. As he looked at the golem's stone form, subtle undercurrents of what may have been pain, anger and confusion coursed through their telekinetic connection.

The finality of its words made her respond only with a sigh. She was about to turn from it again, when the sight of an undead prompted her to leap back in surprise. The carcass of a woman shuffled toward her. As the woman was recently dead, she appeared almost alive, for her grey skin was perfectly smooth and unblemished. Yet, the thing's white, soulless eyes revealed the certainty of its ill fate. Strands of light brown hair hung limply around its sunken face. The train of its linen dress, torn and dirtied from dragging on the ground, hindered its lurching movements.

Lady Rohesia's wide, fearful look professed awareness that its lack of soul and mind revealed it could not be reasoned with. When she turned to run, the Golem's massive stone form slowly shifted to the shambling corpse. Without a second thought, it lifted its heavy arm and slammed its enormous fist directly onto the corpse's head – crushing it down into the ground like a grisly human accordion. Blood fountained from the corpse's remains and pooled over the cobblestone; staining the stone ground an ominous shade of red.

"_Golem will protect lady._"

When she lowered her head, the creature slowly uncurled one of its massive fists. The young woman sat down on its open palm, her eyes locked upon its expressionless head, searching for discernible emotion. The creature lifted its large hand up, which enabled her to obtain a better view of its face.

Her voice broke the silence. "Thank you, Golem."

Walter chortled. Despite the creature's obvious mindlessness, she still believed it _chose_ to save her. Although his main source of entertainment had yet to arrive, her concern for the wretch amused him.

He popped the cork of his favorite Italian wine.

Upon hearing the noise, the lady looked up at him. With a sarcastic smile, she eyed the wine in his hand. "How _kind_ of you to share, Lord Bernhard."

While filling his glass, he gave the moon a wistful look. He surveyed the town from his perch and lifted his glass. Though she did not have a glass of her own, he made a toasting motion in her direction and returned her remark with a mocking grin.

"I did not think a lady as 'pure' as yourself would be interested in drinking?" With a look of pretend offence, the red-haired lord deliberately took a long, leisurely sip. "This wine is too good for _you_, human."

"I think not." Ignoring his rebuff, she folded her arms across her chest. Moonlight spilled across her fair face; illuminating her displeased expression and sharp, crystalline eyes. "Tis' the least you can do!"

"If you want it, fetch it yourself."

Knowing she could not possibly scale the building on which he perched, he flicked his hand and took another sip.

To his surprise, the woman turned her attention to the goliath.

Whilst standing atop the creature's open palm, she patted its stone head. Her voice softened. "Golem, would you kindly lift me up onto that roof?"

The creature's unblinking red eyes stared at her. "_Golem will protect lady_."

With low, thundering steps, the goliath carried her toward its master. As the creature and the lady neared, the red-haired lord's hand tightened around the stem of his glass. Whilst giving the woman a scathing look, he sneered. "Such insolence! You are not entitled to-"

"You told me to fetch it myself. Well, here I am!" The Golem stopped beside the roof, its hulking form making the structure near it seem frail and insignificant. As if she were nothing at all, the creature raised its arm up, lifting her almost to the height of the roof. Whilst standing atop the creature's open palm she barked. "Hand it over!"

"Absolutely not-"

"What kind of host does not offer a lady a drink?" She scowled. "Unfortunately, I shall likely require more than one to cope with you!"

Walter thrust the bottle into her waiting hand; his dark eyes glinting with subtle amusement. Whilst towering over her, his deep voice resonated through the darkness. "If it rids me of you, so much the better! Intoxicate yourself for all I care. I am certain your lord would be pleased to find his betrothed passed out like a drunken fool."

Thinking on his words a moment, she tilted the bottle upside down and dumped its contents onto the ground. "Oh dear, it seems I dropped it!" Then, giving him a hateful look, she tossed the bottle onto the ground. The object hit the stone with a loud smash; sending pieces of glass scattering across the cobblestone. With a look of feigned surprise, she brought a hand over her mouth. "You did not bring another one, milord?"

The red-haired lord's face contorted into a mask of horror and fury. As he watched the red liquid seep into the stone, his voice trembled. "How dare you waste it! The vinery it came from does not even _exist_ anymore!"

"Tis' no different than how you waste human lives." She glared. "Unlike wine, though, _people_ are not expendable!" Refusing to acknowledge him further, she returned her attention to the creature. "Come, Golem. Let us return to the fountain. As Lord Bernhard does not have any wine besides what is left in his glass, I shall not inconvenience him."

"You already have, woman." Returning her remark with a scathing look, he took another sip of his wine from his glass – savoring what remained of his beloved vintage.

Briefly, he considered ending their game before the game even started. He could have commanded the golem to crush her in its fist like an insect. Knowing this, he huffed under his breath. She did not deserve such a swift end. The idea of forcing her to watch her beloved die appealed to him far more.

Moments later, hoofbeats drew his attention. Whilst the woman sulked by the fountain with the Golem, he looked to the horizon.

The pale nobleman approached on horseback, flanked by a hastily cobbled together group of five men. His gauntlet-covered hand gripped the horse's reins. Moonlight illuminated his ghost-like form with startling clarity.

Though many of his newly formed creations stayed within the town's walls, one enterprising citizen emerged, looking for further flesh to consume. Having found none, it wandered aimlessly outside the town gates. The creature, once a young man, released a low, haggard moan. Layers of thick brown hair framed its gaunt, pale grey cheeks. It wore a tattered brown tunic and matching linen breeches, attesting to the fact death had not relieved it from life's hardships.

Lord Armster guided his horse closer to the sickly peasant. Uncertain why the man had wandered beyond the town gates' safe confines, his lips pursed. Whilst giving the man a confused look, the white-haired lord's cold voice echoed through the night.

"My name is Lord Zaviean Armster, keeper of the faith and loyal servant of the Holy See. My men and I have come to see to the safe return of Lady Arabella Rohesia. You appear to be suffering from affliction. My men will see that your wounds are treated quickly."

The five companions snapped to attention as Lord Armster spoke. Without replying, the young man slowly shuffled toward the crusader and his forces. One of the lord's men, carrying what appeared to be a leather medical satchel, approached the young man.

When the peasant made no effort to acknowledge them, the pale lord held up a hand. "Wait-"

No sooner had he spoken than the creature lunged upon the unwitting servant, ripping his trachea from his neck with a swift, merciless bite. Blood poured from the man's wound as he collapsed to the ground in a fit of convulsions; his eyes wide with horror as the creature tore bits of flesh from his quavering chest and shredded it to pieces. Torrents of blood splashed into the crisp night air as the man, unable to scream, writhed on the ground.

Lord Armster rode forth and ran his blade through the creature's chest. Instead of distancing itself from him, as he may have expected it to, the creature continued moving toward him – driving the blade deeper through until the weapon's tip jutted from its back. Its hands flailed and thrashed the air, eager to pull the lord from his horse were it able. Realizing the blow would not subdue it, Lord Armster ripped the blade out and plunged it through the creature's forehead. Low groans filled the air as the creature's flailing arms fell limply against its side. The young man's milky white eyes rolled back into its head. With nary another sound, it fell to the ground.

When it moved no more, the nobleman withdrew his sword and inhaled sharply.

"What in God's name has happened here?" Lord Armster turned his attention to the other men. "Gather your wits! Though I bought your sword skills in haste, you must be prepared for battle. Based on the moans I hear ahead; this will be more difficult than finding a virgin in a whorehouse."

The group paused.

"You want us to go in _there_, sir?" One of them asked.

"I expect it of you, as does the Lord." Lord Armster replied. "We must do what God requires of us."

"Begging your pardon, milord, but there are only five of us. We shan't stand a chance without reinforcements."

"By the time they arrive, any townsfolk still alive will likely suffer the same fate as your compatriot." Undeterred by the man's objection, the pale lord shook his head. Brandishing his sword, he turned his horse toward the town. The silver-colored beast raised its head, pricking its finely tipped ears forward. Low agonized moans drifted faintly through the darkness.

"You want to go in there and save your bride, go right ahead. But we will not trade our lives for your woman's by barging into a town that may be full of those things!" The man shouted. The others around him murmured in agreement.

"What exceptional bravery," Armster scoffed. The pale nobleman tightened the clasps on his armor, ensuring it was secure. He then pointed to the dead man. "At least give him a Christian burial. Even though you are too cowardly to follow, I expect you can still muster enough nerve to dig a hole."

With a furious scowl, the lord took off.

"And you shall not receive the gold you were promised!" He yelled, not bothering to look back at the mercenaries.

The sight of burning smoke had drawn him to the ruins. As soon as the equine halted a short distance away, he dismounted and stormed toward the ruins. His long, sweeping grey cape flew around him as he went. His armored form tensed as he passed the dilapidated wooden gates. While continuing along the road, he cautiously scanned the town's deserted streets. His hand clenched around his sword's hilt in anticipation. The smell of death permeated the air; alluding to the dangers lurking within its maze-like structures.

The town was a long rectangle leading to a fountain just outside of the meadery on its furthest north side. The fountain, constructed by monks and serfs, was the town's only attraction for travelers and pilgrims – although it seldom attracted either. Stone walls, and the remains of the town's meadery, prevented the lord from approaching from the south. Walter deliberately left the lady there, as it would force the lord to traverse most of the town in order to reach her. A marketplace was located close to the town's only entrance. Stone guard towers flanked the east and west sides of the gates, providing a bird's eye view of the entire settlement.

The residences in the eastern center part of the village were blocked by a few hastily built barricades. The red-haired lord could only surmise the villagers had tried, and failed, to contain the disease within that area. A small cobblestone road in the western section of the city led to the town's largest residence, which contrasted the much smaller buildings surrounding it.

As Walter expected, the undead detected the crusader's presence within moments. Three rotting and newly dead corpses returned to the main road from adjacent streets and alleyways. Upon sighting them, Lord Armster gasped and stepped back. Men, women, and youths shambled unsteadily his direction – their dead, white eyes locking upon his pale form. A few of the creatures released low, rasping moans while they trudged grimly along, their grey, lifeless skin nearly matching the color of the human's horse and clothing. Walter easily discerned his original zombies from the newly turned townsfolk. Since their muscles and bones remained in-tact, the newly turned creatures moved slightly faster.

The pale nobleman studied his foes. One undead woman, recently turned, boasted a wooden stake through her heart. Walter shook his head. Such tactics only worked on his kind; not zombies.

The lord's deadly blow severed only part of the creature's neck. Her head, still attached to her neck by a piece of sinew, lulled backwards toward the ground, flipped upright, then fell back again. As she approached, her head's flopping motion worked in time with her slow steps. He severed the remaining sinew with the tip of his sword; sending the head flying across the road with a low thud.

As another undead approached, the crusader pointed his sword at the brute – preparing to strike its neck if it came any closer. Unexpectedly, the creature tripped on the hem of its tattered robe. Before the lord could respond, its weight forced the weapon's razor-sharp through its skull. Surprised by its mindlessness, the pale lord jumped back, raised his boot, and kicked the creature away.

"Hmm," The pale nobleman whispered, his voice quieting to the point Walter barely heard him. "So, tis' a blow to the head, or severed at the neck that stills these heathens..."

With a decisive motion, the white-haired lord plunged his blade into the creature, cleaving its head cleanly in half. Upon dispatching his foe, he exhaled in relief. The human's relief was short-lived, however. The street began to fill with undead. Hordes of them shambled toward the nobleman, their hollow, vacant eyes expressing only hunger. Undaunted by their terror, he refrained from attacking until the first wave was nearly upon him. The lord's lips curled into a deep scowl. The full moon, his only source of light, glowed revealingly above. Within the moonlight, the creatures' startling paleness rivaled the nobleman. Lord Armster's dark blue spheres studied the corpses carefully, noting their positions, as well as his surroundings. Briefly, his eyes flitted to the guard tower entrance behind him. After appearing to make note of these things, the crusader leapt aside when the corpse of a large man lunged upon him. It attempted to catch and wrench him forward by the arm. When it grasped only air, a loud, rumbling bellow escaped its throat. The sound echoed through the town's deserted streets. Within moments, more undead shuffled onto the road, drawn by its warning call.

Lord Armster swung his blade at the creature. The sword's deadly steel edge severed the creature's head from its neck. Blood spattered into the air and across the cobblestone road. The monster's head landed a few feet away. The head rolled across the road until it collided against the foot of a man dressed in a cassock. The man, once a priest, continued onward – indifferent to everything except the human. As it went, it kicked the head aside as if unaware of its existence. As the creature was newly turned, it moved with surprising speed and efficiency. It opened its jaws and hurtled itself upon the nobleman, attempting to use the force of its full weight to overwhelm him.

Acting on instinct and fright more than anything else, Lord Armster drove the steel blade through the creature's chest. Blood rained upon his armored form; staining his once polished silver and gold trimmed breastplate crimson. The weapon's pointed tip protruded through the undead's backside; severing its spine. Were the creature human, it would have died instantly. As it was not, the attack only stunned it. Seconds later, it's clawing hands tore into the gap between the nobleman's gauntlet and pauldron.

Walter watched; expecting the human to succumb to the assault. He took another sip of wine; his dark, gleaming spheres following the nobleman's every move. It would not be long before the undead overcame their would-be challenger. His lips lifted into a cold smirk. Upon hearing the commotion, more creatures joined the rest on the main road.

The crusader shoved the creature back with an agonized shout. Blood gushed from his wounded shoulder and spilled over his gauntlet. Agonized gasps fled the white-haired lord's lips as he ripped the blade out of its chest and swung at its waist. A low, sickening crunch reverberated through the darkness when the blade connected with the creature's ribcage and spine. The sword severed the creature in half. Long, winding pieces of entrails dropped from its gaping abdomen and across the ground; drenching the cobblestone in a sea of red. The creature's top half landed on the stone with a nauseating slap. Its jaw and arms continued moving with mechanical indifference; still trying to grab hold of the nobleman's feet.

"Take the sword of the Spirit," Lord Armster hissed, plunging it into the creature's skull. "Which is the word of God."

Walter leaned forward, his eyes widening in excitement. He took another sip of wine and flicked his cloak aside. The human was not as weak as he thought, despite his disdain for the man's early injury. He watched the lord kick the body aside; readying his sword as the remains of two women and three men hobbled toward him. Without hesitating, the lord swung the blade in a wide arc – severing the head of a man and woman with a single, well-aimed slash. Anger simmered beneath the human's piercing eyes.

"You shall not stop me," The white-haired lord proclaimed. "For I..." and then he swung the blade again; cutting the remaining three across their necks. Blood, flesh and intestines spattered his chest and face; casting red droplets across his milky white skin. "Am bathed in the love of the Almighty!"

As he approached the cobblestone street going north through the western end of the town, one of the hastily arranged barricades to the east, just out of the lord's view, fell. A swarm of undead pushed their way through onto the main marketplace. Men, women and children stumbled through the street. Their dull, unblinking eyes focused upon the lord's silvery white form.

By now, at least twenty undead were within feet of him. Lord Armster gritted his teeth. Unwilling to retreat, the white-haired lord charged forth, swinging his blade as he went. One by one, undead fell to the ground in headless heaps. Enraged shouts escaped the crusader's throat while he hacked and slashed at everything in his path. Bodies littered the ground behind him. When an undead boy attempted to lunge at his backside, the lord – sighting the creature from the corner of his eye - spun around and smashed his fist into its skull. The child's body hit a nearby wall with a dull thump. Blood pooled from a large hole in its head and seeped across the stone. With a gurgling cry, it collapsed against the wall and fell still.

He kept swinging, felling one after another until a sea of decapitated corpses covered the path.

"Saracen bastards!" he screamed. "You did not fell me in Jerusalem, and you shall not fell me now!"

Walter stared at the human in confusion. The man's eyes gleamed with the terror of a man who had witnessed countless horrors. Whether his opponents were living or not was irrelevant. Lord Armster saw only one enemy: those whom he had fought in the east.

Sensing this, the red-haired lord smirked.

A few of their eyes and mouths twitched in their last spasms of death. Despite felling at least thirty, within a short time, more appeared to replace them. Throngs of undead shambled up the road; their decomposing forms moving with unthinking resolve. With a shout, Lord Armster slashed in a downward arc, cutting the heads of the ones crawling on their bellies. He continued the motion until he brought the sword parallel to his shoulder, then commenced the same arc motion horizontally, slashing the heads of the ones still approaching.

Desperate to escape the hoard, he ran back through the market stalls toward the guard tower. The undead followed in quick pursuit. As he ran between the stalls, one of them surprised him from around a corner. He grabbed the creature by the neck, pushed it toward the back of one of the market stalls, and stabbed what was once a young female dancer through the eye.

Then, without missing a beat, the pale nobleman reached the guard tower's winding steps. He jumped up the stairs two at a time, only to come to a heavily slashed locked iron door. A woman and her young child lay next to the door; a blood-covered dagger clutched in her hand. Congealed blood pooled from their slashed throats. The woman's face, trapped eternally in fear and grief, gave the crusader pause.

The pale lord's frame tensed. With a sigh, he whispered a quiet prayer. Then, with as much care as he could with the undead in close pursuit, he gently moved their bodies aside – clearing a path to the door behind them. He looked at the door's wooden structure; noting the fingernail and blade marks in its surface. Unable to stay, for the moans of the undead increased as they approached, he kicked the door open and slammed it shut behind him, using crates to ensure the door remained closed. No sooner had he done so, than the low, rasping moans and cries of the undead sounded on the other side.

With a sigh, he knelt by the door and withdrew a rosary from the pocket of his robe. Faint prayers fled his lips whilst he crossed himself, before signing a cross through the doorway for the woman and child. Walter could not discern what the man said, for the moans and hands of the undead striking the door concealed his words.

The crusader rose to his feet. Whilst gritting his teeth, his gauntlet-encased hands balled into fists. After composing himself, he ascended the steps to the tower's watchpoint, which offered a view of the town. Two guards awaited him; donned in simple iron and leather. As their armor was designed for form rather than function, it provided minimal protection. The first guard, tall and reedy in appearance, contrasted his stockier companion.

Upon sighting the white-haired crusader, the taller guard abruptly stepped back. "_What the hell_? God surely did not send a pale devil to save us!" Dumbfounded, he stared at the crusader's unusual ivory hair and skin.

"Pale devil?" The nobleman scowled. With a furious snarl, he shoved the man back, nearly knocking him over. "Call me that again, and you shall suffer the same fate as the townsfolk, fool!"

"What if he's one of them?" The huskier guard stammered, his voice becoming faint when the lord's pale face turned to look at him. "He is as pale as death, too!"

"On my honor, I assure you, I am _not_." The lord reassured, giving the man a scathing look. "Though you shall soon be, if you stay here like rats in a trap. The dead can wait far longer than you useless dolts."

Walter could not hear the rest of their conversation over the increasingly loud moans of the undead. Upon realizing this, dissatisfaction threatened to shatter his enjoyment. He straightened from his perch and leapt onto the next building; eager to uncover what his unwitting players would do next. He had not expected anyone in the town to survive, let alone a pair of guards. Apparently, his attempt to exterminate the human pests was not as thorough as he thought. He sighed. The undead always seemed to leave survivors.

Nevertheless, unexpected twists piqued his interest. The game would not be nearly as enjoyable if he could not see what moves its players made. Knowing this, the red-haired lord leapt from one rooftop to the next until, at last, he reached the western watch tower. He perched on the tower roof; easily sighting the men from his higher vantage point through their tower's large, open window. Like a king surveying his domain, he flicked his cloak and took another sip of wine. Despite the inconvenience, he had not spilled a single drop of his drink.

"Thank Heavens!" The pale lord breathed a sigh of relief. "So, you have seen her, then?"

"Possibly." The tall guard replied. "We heard a woman screaming and looked out the tower window. A horrible, bat-like monster flew by overhead. We saw the beast drop someone in the town square. I don't know if it was your lady, as I could not see who it was carrying."

"Most of the undead dare not enter the square - at least, from what we have seen from here." The guard's stocky companion added. "The brutes seem to avoid that area. Given the fact a monstrous bat is also flying about, I don't want to find out what it's up to. I doubt your lady is alive, milord."

"I am not interested in your opinion." The crusader chided. After thinking on the man's words, he added confidently. "When I was in Semin, the Saracens used women as bait. I have no doubt they would not hesitate to do so again."

The men looked at one another in visible confusion. "Saracens?" The tall guard remarked. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you have any weapons or supplies?" Lord Armster inquired, ignoring the man's question.

"Not much." The fat guard answered. "We have some bows and arrows. We used most of them to defend our position, but there should be about a dozen left. There are the wooden boxes they came in, some lamp oil, and a bit of food - although it's not enough for more than a breakfast. After the town's defenses fell, we barely managed to keep the creatures away."

"Well, it seems you and your companion still managed to keep away a woman and child." Lord Armster gave the man a repugnant look. He tossed his head, curtaining his disgust behind the locks of his long, white hair.

"Ah," Said the short, husky one. "That was...unpleasant but necessary."

"We had no choice!" The tall guard insisted. "We leave this to soldiers or knights, like you. Our job was to deal with drunks and return wives to their husbands when they ran away after being given a thrashing."

"I am certain the mother and child understand." Lord Armster remarked, his hand balling into a fist.

The two only managed to look at their feet, illuminated by the flickering lamplight.

The pale nobleman approached the tower's only window and peered over the ledge. Throngs of undead began crowding the base of the tower in which they had sought refuge. As minutes passed, more undead appeared out of the town's numerous alleyways and side streets to join them. Before long, at least fifty undead swarmed the base of the tower. Their white, soulless eyes stared hungrily up at the men. Their waving, grasping arms tore at one another as each sought to get closest to the tower's stone facing directly beneath the window. As the creatures thrashed to overcome one another, a few clambered onto their cohorts, nearly knocking them to the ground.

Aware time was against them, the pale lord gave the duo a scrutinizing look. "You!" He pointed his index finger at the taller one. "Gather the lamp oil. I may have a use for it." Then, turning to the man's comrade, he barked. "As for you, fetch me a bucket of water, as well as whatever bows and arrows remain. I assume the town's night watch has at least one bucket of water handy, should the torches need extinguishing."

The guards made quick work of their tasks. Without hesitating, they dropped all their available supplies onto the floor at the nobleman's feet. The crusader quickly snapped wooden boxes apart over his knee. He tossed the pieces onto the floor until a large pile of debris filled part of the room. Then, he took the torch and ignited the pile. Fire immediately engulfed the dry pieces. A slow, satisfied smirk creased the nobleman's pale lips as he turned to the guards. The duo stood in silent confusion.

While the first guard obediently removed his shirt, Lord Armster placed a pot of oil in the fire. Several tense minutes passed. Whilst the lord frequently checked on the oil, now starting to bubble within the pot, the guards looked at each other apprehensively.

Lord Armster snapped. "One of you, give me your shirt, now!" His severe tone implied he was in no mood for delay.

The guard set the garment in the man's waiting hand with an uncertain look. Lord Armster wrapped the fabric around his gauntlet. Then, with as much care as time allotted, he retrieved the boiling pot from the fire. He swept to the tower window, tilted the pot, and tossed a torrent of scalding liquid onto the undead below. Then, with the speed of an eagle, he picked up the bucket of water and dumped it out the window in succession. Loud, crackling pops and hisses sounded through the night as the two elements reacted. The hot oil burned through the creatures' skulls; causing their skin to peel away in pinkish-red layers. As oil continued burning, uninhibited by flesh and bone, low, agonized moans escaped the creatures' throats.

As he watched, another guard removed his shirt, retrieved the cast-iron pot, and set to work re-filling and heating it. The other rummaged around the room, finding whatever cast-iron pots were available and filling them in haste. As soon as a batch of oil was ready, Lord Armster, assisted by one or both guards, carried it to the window and dumped it onto the wretches below.

He continued dumping batches of hot oil on the creatures gathered around the tower. Mindless and unyielding, the brutes held their positions. The undead's dull, milky white eyes stared up at the men in ravenous hunger. Streams of boiling hot oil slowly eroded their skin and bones; reducing them to grotesque moving forms. Eventually, the tops of their skulls gave way. Streams of oil and blood trickled down the monsters' scalded faces and bodies. One by one, undead collapsed onto the ground.

Lord Armster leaned further out the window; his pallid face starkly visible against the surrounding darkness as he surveyed the bodies. A cold, night wind caught the wispy strands of his ivory hair; sweeping it around his smooth, regal face.

"Unbelievable!" The stocky guard remarked, his eyes wide with a mix of amazement and fear. He was so large that his armor barely fit. After tugging at the steel encasement in discomfort, he added. "How on earth did you come up with that idea? We were sitting here for _days_ trying to decide what to do! The thought of using oil to kill them didn't occur to us."

Barely giving the man any regard, Lord Armster tossed his head, his fine lips curling. "Of course, it wouldn't." He snipped, seemingly unsurprised by the man's lacking resourcefulness. "My company and I used a similar tactic on a minaret in Jerusalem."

The tall guard cocked his head, his brow furrowing. "Surely, you aren't confusing _monsters_ with-"

"Tom!" His husky companion scolded. "There's no need for rudeness! This man saved our skins, so to speak."

"Better ours, than theirs." The other guard replied, surveying the grotesque, almost indiscernible heaps of what were once people below.

When none of the creatures moved, except for the occasional twitch of a foot or a hand, Lord Armster retrieved the bow, lit an arrow aflame, and shot it toward the north end of the town. The arrow landed – and extinguished – on the ground near the town's largest home; close to the square. Undeterred, the pale nobleman lit another.

With a pause, the white-haired lord muttered under his breath. "Lord, guide my way."

Once more, he drew the quiver back and fired. This time, the arrow landed on the home's thatched roof; setting it alight.

With a furious snarl, the tall guard glared. "What are you doing? We don't have many of those left!"

"_Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand_." Lord Armster whispered, his voice nearly carried away by the wind. A gentle breeze caught the silky strands of his long, white hair and tossed it back. Then, drawing a breath, he snapped. "The more I can kill from here, the safer our path will be."

"_Our_ path?" The tall guard repeated, his voice straining. "Are you sodding _mad_? I am not going down there!"

Before he could continue, the husky guard interjected. "I would rather die down there, than up here. They will get in eventually. We have no choice – he is our best chance of survival. _Do not fear or be dismayed! Be strong and courageous, for thus the Lord will do to all your enemies with whom you fight_."

The tall guard stared at his companion, his bearded face awash with surprise.

"Unlike you, Tom, I didn't spend all my time ogling the pretty parishioners at mass!" The husky guard remarked with a grin. "If you would rather stay here, fine. I'm going with Lord Armster. That man must've cut over fifty of those brutes down before he made it to the tower."

After considering his companion's words, the tall guard slowly nodded. He adjusted his helmet and reached for the sword sheathed at his hip. "I'm not staying here by myself! I care not about saving some woman, though. As soon as we get to the main road, I'm getting out of this hellhole."

"Goddamn it, Tom!" The shorter guard snapped. "That man is a hero!"

"He saved _himself_, John. He cares not a whit about us!"

"Think what you want." Refusing to acknowledge him further, his companion turned to the pale nobleman and bowed his head. "I am at your service, milord."

His companion, still unconvinced, looked at the fire kindling on the mansion's roof. As the building was primarily constructed from lumber, it would not take long for the structure to succumb to the fire. The fire's dull orange glow stood out like a beacon. The man's scowl deepened. His dark brown eyes focused upon the pale lord's taciturn expression. "You realize these buildings are constructed very close to each other, milord?" He said, giving the man a scathing look. "What if that fire spreads? There could be other survivors, like us, hiding throughout the town…women and children-"

The lord's sapphire eyes gleamed in the moonlight. With a low huff, he turned away from the window. "Tis' interesting you are suddenly concerned about the wellbeing of this town's citizens when, days ago, you were content to let them die."

The guard's eyes burned against the lord's backside. "You haven't answered me! What if there are survivors? We can't save anyone if this entire town burns to the ground!"

To this, the pale nobleman looked at the guard over his shoulder. Whilst flicking long, ivory strands of hair away from his ashen visage, his voice lowered. "Though their fates are regrettable, evil must be cleansed from this town. As the Lord says, '_They burned the city with fire, and all that was in it._'"

"Selfish bastard!" Anger tremored through the man's entire frame as he stood before the nobleman, his eyes widening with fear and loathing. "May you burn alongside them!"

The husky guard, somewhat vexed by his companion's rising temper, shook his head. "None of us are saints. The entire town is overrun!"

Lord Armster lowered his head, whispering a prayer under his breath. Layers of long, silky white hair fell around his face as his cold voice filled the silence. "I will not allow these heathens to contaminate more innocents." Their discussion at an end, the pale lord ran to the tower door and flung it open. Before descending the staircase back to the street, he added. "Do as you will. I do not care if the devil himself or a thousand of those wretches await me. I will find and protect Arabella whilst cleansing this town of the evil within it."

Without a backward glance, the nobleman's silvery white form disappeared. Both guards followed him out.

Upon re-entering the street, Lord Armster swept past the half-melted corpses piled at the base of the tower. A few stragglers, drawn by the sound of their boots clipping across the cobblestone, appeared from nearby side streets.

"Do not waste time attacking their limbs." The white-haired lord instructed, his cold, resonant voice echoing down the empty streets. "You must sever their heads to kill them."

While the guards took care of the occasional wandering undead, a low unearthly groan stopped the pale lord in his tracks. Lord Armster turned toward the town's west road, noticing a makeshift barricade set up across it. The barricade, consisting of hastily stacked crates, barrels, and wagons, blocked a group of undead waiting on the other side. Within moments, John and Tom arrived beside him.

Eager to maintain the men in his sights, the red-haired lord leapt across several houses. Cloaking darkness, as well as his higher vantage point, enabled him to move undetected. Smirking, his dark eyes surveyed the barricade. The structure would not last much longer. The undead, ever determined to seek out sustenance, thrashed relentlessly against the makeshift blockade. The humans merely delayed the inevitable.

Realizing the barrier still held, the husky guard's face became awash with relief. With a brazen laugh, he stuck his tongue out at the undead trapped on the other side. Whilst the taller guard and lord kept their distance, the man approached the haphazard array of barrels and boxes, stuck his sword through one of the gaps, and jabbed an undead scrambling madly for him on the other side.

"Dear God!" The taller guard gave his companion a disapproving look. "Don't be a fool, John!"

"I'm not!" The husky man replied. "That barricade is as sturdy as ever!"

Just as he finished speaking, a grey, rotting hand reached through a gap in the blockade and snatched his pauldron. Shrieking loudly, the man wrenched himself free and stumbled back. More undead approached the barricade and pressed against it. The makeshift structure groaned in protest.

Turning toward the Lord and his companion, the husky man quipped. "See, I told you it would be fine."

He had barely finished speaking when an undead child, likely no older than five or six, tumbled from the second-floor window of a house behind him. The little girl knocked the man onto his back; its empty, hollow eyes staring down at his face as its gnashing teeth sought his throat. Strands of messy, tangled dark brown hair fell around the child's pale face. The front of the girl's cranberry colored dress was spattered with blood; grimly revealing he was not the first life the creature sought to claim.

Lord Armster drove the tip of his blade through the child's skull. With a shuddering gasp, the little girl rolled over and collapsed onto the road in a heap. "Useless idiot!" The white-haired nobleman shouted. "Get up, lest you become one of the devil's servants!"

More undead appeared at the window above. Mindless and unafraid, the creatures hurtled their rotting forms onto the street with reckless abandon. As the first attempted to rise to their feet, more fell, crushing them into the ground.

"There are too many!" Screamed John. "Run! Head for the guild street!"

The group took off toward the market, with a mob of twelve undead following in pursuit. As the men ran, a group of undead appeared from a nearby alleyway. Whilst the guards ran ahead, Lord Armster whirled and slashed at the creatures with his sword. He swung the blade in a wide arc, catching a few of the brutes by the throats and severing their heads. Blood sprayed into the air and spattered the ground as the monsters fell. The guards, desperate to keep the savage creatures at bay, swung their blades alongside him. With their combined efforts, they managed to clear most of the undead from the street. Blood spattered their armored forms whilst they stood, panting and exhausted, in the corpse-strewn road. Having dispatched the wave of undead, the men breathed a sigh of relief.

"That should just about do it." John remarked, whilst making his way over to an abandoned home. He leaned against the wall by the door – his chubby frame relaxing. With a somewhat cheeky grin, the man rapped his knuckles on the home's front door. "Knock on wood, that is the last of them – for now. I swear, we must've killed at least thirty of those bastards! Surely, we've taken care of most of the ones in this part of town?"

Lord Armster's eyes narrowed. Whilst standing in the middle of the road, he beckoned the man back. "We must keep going. Get away from that door, fool-"

"Just because we're accompanying you," The tall guard glared. "Does not mean you can order us around, freak! Give the man a moment, for God's sakes! Those Saracens, as _you_ call them, are people we saw _every day_!"

Lord Armster shook his head, his lips curling. "There is no time to rest. More of those heathens will appear before long." Then, looking once more at the man's stockier companion, he snapped. "If you value your life, you will get away from there."

"Why?" The shorter guard shrugged. In no hurry to continue running, the man glanced at the empty street. "We've cleared this street; surely I should be able to catch my breath-"

No sooner had he spoken, than a large, muscular undead man burst through the door beside him. Pieces of broken wood flew into the air as the brute's large, grasping hand snatched the guard by the throat and dragged him backward. A strangled cry escaped the guard's throat as he struggled to wrench himself out of the fiend's grasp. "Oh God-"

"John!" The other guard ran, grasped his companion by the arm, and attempted to pull him back. The undead brute, far larger and stronger than them both, stubbornly refused to release its quarry. Whilst it dragged the man into the home by the nape, Lord Armster lifted his sword. The creature tore a large chunk of flesh from the back of the man's neck with its fingernails. Blood gushed from the wound and spilled across the man's chest. Whilst he writhed helplessly against the creature's iron-like grip, the white-haired nobleman lopped the creature's head off with a single, well-aimed strike. Blood fountained across the floor in a thick, dark pool. The moment the brute's hold loosened; Tom wrenched his companion away.

Lord Armster stepped over the smeared trail of blood, his dark, sapphire eyes giving the two men nary a glance whilst he warned. "More are coming!"

"I'm not leaving him!" The tall guard glared. "Help me carry him!"

The pale nobleman's eyes averted from man to a group of undead shambling down the street behind them. With no time to waste, the white-haired lord grabbed the injured man by the arm. "Quickly then!"

Once again, the trio hurried on their way. Though faster than the undead, the guard's severely injured condition inhibited their efforts. Lord Armster's eyes flitted from the guard to the undead following. A group of ten undead men, women, and children lurched after them; their emotionless eyes following the trail of smeared blood in their companion's wake. Another group of five undead burst from a nearby shop; bringing the total number to fifteen.

Lord Armster stopped; his sudden inaction drawing his companion's rage. "What are you doing?" The taller guard shouted. "Have you lost your mind! We have to keep-"

The pale nobleman shook his head, his voice quieting whilst he looked at their injured companion. Blood streamed from John's wounded neck. Labored gasps fled the guard's lips as he tried to remain conscious.

After drawing a breath, the crusader replied. "He will remember your sacrifice, as Our Lord remembered the thief on Golgotha." Then, while muttering a quick prayer under his breath, he tossed the injured man onto the ground behind them.

Without a backward glance, the pale nobleman snatched Tom by the arm and took off. Like a swarm of wasps, undead quickly surrounded John. His agonized screams and cries echoed through the streets.

Within moments, the screams died to silence.

"John!" yelled Tom.

"Keep running!" Lord Armster's eyes focused on the remaining undead. "We must move quickly." As he turned around, his sharp, piercing eyes noticed tears streaming down his companion's face.

"You bastard!" he said. "He was my best friend!"

"Well," Lord Armster's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. "I imagine many friends and family within this town have died. Some could have been saved, if not for your cowardice."

"Sanctimonious prick!" Tom yelled, his face a mask of rage at the lord's unmoved expression.

"Thanks to his sacrifice – regrettable as it was – we live. Your friend would have bled out within the hour, regardless. Instead, whilst we bicker, he is now surely singing with the choirs of Heaven."

"I hope God remembers what you did!"

"God shall judge me, as He judges all who come before Him." The pale nobleman snipped. "Now, move."

The two continued running until they arrived at the guild street. Two-storied buildings - each representing a different trade guild, from masons to leathermakers and more – lined a narrow cobblestone road. Doors to various shops and homes flanked each side of the road. The tight quarters gave it an unmistakably claustrophobic atmosphere.

Nearby, smoke billowed from the manor and spread across the sky like a dark haze. Though the fire had not yet reached their district, it mercilessly engulfed the homes and buildings surrounding the square. Firelight reflected off the smoke and cast the town within its flickering, ominous glow. Undeterred by its warning, the nobleman and guard continued up the dangerous, narrow street.

"This street always used to be a madhouse, even at the best of times." Tom remarked; trying to obscure the faint moans and shrieks from monsters wandering nearby. "Everyone attempting to get out right at quitting time and get back to their families, or down to the pub. I might've been down there myself, too...Robert...he was one of the other guards, younger than both of us, he was down here, too...he had his eye on the tavern girl….course', she'd been had by nearly every man in town. I hadn't the heart to tell him. That said, I'm sure _you_ know all about the lengths a man will go to for the fairer sex."

Tom gave the pale lord a furious glare. From his vantage point, hidden by the powers of the night, Walter knew that look. It was the look that nearly all his guests gave right before death took them - the despair of knowing their lives were expendable.

After drawing a labored breath, the guard shook his head. "All of this for a _woman_?" He studied the crusader's solemn expression. Disgust flickered in the guard's eyes whilst he rasped. "Why _her_? Is she really worth your life?"

The pale nobleman frowned. Whilst giving the guard an offended look, he replied coldly. "I would journey through all nine circles of hell for her. I do not owe you any further explanation than that…_Tom_." The crusader's lips formed a weak smirk. He bowed his head, curtaining his pale face behind the long, silky locks of his ivory hair. Like a dying wind, his quiet admission echoed through the deserted streets. "I shall stop at nothing until she is safe in my arms."

The guard chuckled dryly. He gave the nobleman a doubtful look. "You're the monster." He snapped, unconcerned that his words drew the crusader's immediate disdain. When the pale lord's eyes narrowed, he continued. "Maybe she doesn't want to be saved by a pale white _freak_-"

"You will hold your tongue-"

"Or what? You'll kill me?" The guard challenged, seemingly no longer giving a damn about their situation. "I could scarcely imagine any woman wanting _you_, regardless of your pedigree. You haven't sarded her yet, have you?"

"You know nothing of me!" The white-haired lord hissed through gritted teeth. His gauntlet-encased hands clenched into fists; their metallic steel reflecting the pale moonlight. He raised his head, holding it high, whilst continuing. "I shall wait until marriage to consummate our love. It is what the Lord asks of me-"

"More like, it's what _she_ asks of you!" The guard laughed. The sound of his mockery rose through the silent streets, nearly startling the white-haired crusader into silence. "And I thought I was terrible with women. Don't give me that brave knight nonsense. It's obvious you're after far more than her heart, milord."

Lord Armster huffed, his eyes stabbing daggers at the other man. He tossed his head, the swift, deliberate motion causing tendrils of his long, sleek hair to fall around his pallid face. His voice lowered to a whisper. With a heavy sigh, he breathed. "She alone holds my heart. When this is over – if I survive – perhaps, she will-"

"Wishful thinking." The guard shook his head. A tiny, sardonic grin creased the corners of his chapped, pale lips. "I have seen men like you before. War is the only thing you understand. You will not find humanity loving her. God has already used and cast you aside – just as you did to my friend…and, soon, me."

Lord Armster's eyes flitted to the doors lining the street, then the path ahead. Other than the fire crackling a short distance away, only the sounds of their footsteps broke the silence.

Overhead, Walter silently followed them along the rooftops. As he leapt from one roof to the next, he sipped his wine. Although not everything in his game had gone according to plan, it pleased him that the pale nobleman still lived – for now. The fire, however, began to concern him. The undead, mindless of everything except their hunger, would eventually succumb to the flames. From his vantage point, he could see the fire spreading from the square to its surrounding streets. If, by some miracle, Lord Armster reached the square, his Golem would end the man's little campaign once and for all.

Unaware of the red-haired lord's presence, the men continued onward. As they neared the square, Lord Armster hastened his pace.

Tom rushed after him. "There is a path back to the main road near the manor," he began, enraged excitement showing upon his face. "As soon as we reach it, I am getting the hell out of here!"

The white-haired lord returned the man's statement with a cold glare. "Of course, you are. Once a coward, always a coward, it seems."

"Don't give me that!" The guard snapped, "No thanks to _you_, everyone in this town is either dead or will be. Now, if you'll excuse me, the road I'm going to take is just around that corner-"

A shop door swung open a few feet in front; and a heavy-set old woman stumbled out. The creature lurched unsteadily toward him. Her wispy grey hair, partially wrapped in a tattered couvre-chef, swept around her round, wrinkled face. "Jesus Christ!" The guard hollered; his eyes widening. As he sought to swing at her neck, the wretch released a loud, unsettling wail and flung itself upon him; eager to shred the man to pieces. Taken aback by its sudden assault, he extended his hand; attempting to push her back as he sought to retaliate. The woman's decaying teeth snatched him by the hand and bit down.

Lord Armster whirled and plunged his sword through the wretch's forehead.

Gurgled cries sounded from the woman's throat as she stood, momentarily stunned by the blow, before falling backward onto the road with a dull thump. Blood pooled from the wound in her skull; staining her grey hair and ivory couvre-chef crimson.

Tom pressed his injured hand to his chest; wincing as the pale lord flicked his wrist to shake off bits of blood and flesh from his sword. The lord's steely eyes glanced at the man's wounded hand. With a sigh, he reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a handkerchief. "Tis' merely a surface wound," He muttered; offering the man the handkerchief. "Take this and wrap it tightly. Judging by your fussing, you have never fought on the battlefield. I have seen far worse wounds than that."

"You don't understand!" The man shouted, his voice trembling as he snatched the handkerchief from the lord's hand. "I'm…I'm…going to die and become…one of _them_!"

Lord Armster's eyes narrowed. "What nonsense are you-"

"Goddamn it! I…I…don't want to die! I never should've left the _goddamn tower_!" His composure waning, the man's trembling other hand tried to cover it with the handkerchief. Blood streamed from his hand and dripped onto the ground by his feet. Though the wound appeared light, it refused to cease bleeding. "You still don't understand, do you?" The man accused. "Before you came…John and I…we saw a man turn from a bite on his shoulder. Just _one_ bite is all it takes! You bleed out, die, and become one of those…_things_! I saw people rise from the dead in the goddamn streets!"

The pale lord lowered his head. Silence overcame him for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he observed the man's terrified face. "I will pray that your soul finds heaven. Until then, I shall not release you from my service. I still have a use for you."

"Piss off!" The guard spat. "I would only get last rites from the town priest, and I'm pretty sure I saw you chop his head off earlier this evening!"

The nobleman shook his head; a tiny smile appearing upon his lips. **"**Well, much like your friend, you can take comfort from knowing that you helped fulfill God's plan."

"What are you talking about?" Tom replied. "I'm not helping _you_-"

"You can help," He lifted his arm holding the sword. Moonlight reflected off the blade's mirror-like surface. With an exasperated huff, he tossed his head. Layers of long, straight white hair cascaded around his face as he continued. "Or you can _suffer._ Though you are not the first man to refuse my orders, I can certainly ensure your pain is so great that, when death eventually takes you, you will be _grateful_ for it."

"You son of bitch!" The guard reached for his sword. When the nobleman's eyes followed him, seemingly anticipating every move, his hand fell to his side. "Is this how you treat all men under your command? I swear the devil is far kinder than you-"

"There are no heroes in war, Tom." Lord Armster replied. "Though I fight for God, I am a man like any other. Whilst in the east, I spent a week in a dungeon that would make the ones here seem like Eden. In addition to learning the Saracen's techniques, I experienced their effectiveness _personally_. Should you continue to delay-"

"Fine! What would you have me do?" The guard stared at him; his anger slowly replaced by apprehension.

Without looking at him again, the white-haired lord turned around, lifted his sword, and pointed it at the path ahead. **"**This road is narrow and dangerous; with many doors and windows that could easily yield more of those heathens. As you are injured, you shall walk ahead to ensure the path is clear. If it is not, I will cut down whatever awaits you."

"You are worse than those monsters, you goddamn bas-"

"Walk!" The pale nobleman commanded.

Walter smirked. The lord was almost more merciless than himself. He could not recall previous participants using that tactic. He took another sip of wine and brought a gloved hand to his chin, his dark eyes tracing the crusader's cold expression.

As the man walked slowly ahead, glancing warily at the doors along the street, he muttered. "Tis' a shame you escaped. I suppose, they refrained from killing you for a reason?"

The pale lord chuckled softly. "By the time I was done with them, I am certain they wish they had."

The guard shook his head. No sooner had he begun cursing the nobleman under his breath, than a door beside him gave way to another undead. An apprentice blacksmith, likely seventeen or eighteen, burst into the street – still wearing his well-worn brown leather boots and apron. The young man's large, calloused hands slashed at a gap between the guard's elbow and arm; ripping through it like paper. Blood gushed from Tom's wound and spilled onto the ground. He stabbed his sword through the creature's abdomen, forcing it back long enough for the pale lord to move in and finish it off.

The creature collapsed in a headless, blood-drenched heap.

Agonized gasps fled Tom's lips as he staggered onward; driven by the deadly tip of his companion-turned-captor's sword as the nobleman pointed it at his backside. Upon seeing the man's injuries, the pale lord sighed, his voice hissing softly through the darkness. "As you can still walk, our time together is not over. Move!"

If his glare could have killed the nobleman, the guard may have incinerated him on the spot. Unable to wield his sword due to his injury, he dropped the blade onto the ground. "Go…to…hell…you…perverse…abomination…!" He breathed, his voice catching in his throat as weakness overcame him. Nearly tripping over himself, he staggered onward.

Barely a moment later, another undead – lured by the sound of his voice and the smell of blood - burst through the door of a home as he passed. The creature, once what may have been an ironworker, wore a heavy brown wool tunic, linen breeches, and thick leather gloves. Greasy, sweat-streaked layers of short, dirty blonde hair flew around the undead man's gaunt face as it threw itself onto the man's injured frame. With a loud snarl, the creature snatched the man's ear with its rotten teeth and ripped it off. As he thrashed to free himself, Lord Armster ran forth and stabbed his sword through the brute's skull. Low, rasping moans fled the undead's lips before it collapsed to the ground and fell still. Unable to scream, for doing so would draw more creatures, the guard trembled in silent agony. Streams of blood poured down the side of his face and neck.

After shaking off several pieces of greyish brain matter from his sword, Lord Armster's cold voice filled the silence. "Move!"

Tom's wide, terrified gaze stared at the lord's ashen face. Soft whimpers fled his throat until the steel tip of the lord's sword jabbed his backside.

Once again, the pale nobleman hissed. "As you still have one ear, I know you hear me well enough. Get going, or I may consider cutting off the other one."

Without a word, Tom continued leading the way; whilst the pale nobleman kept a six-foot distance behind him. Blood streamed down his arm and dripped across the road, creating a swerving path behind him as he went. Unhindered by it, Lord Armster walked over it; his boots clipping across the cobblestone in rhythmic succession.

"We're...almost...at...end." Tom muttered.

"Not _our _end." The lord remarked. "Yours."

Lord Armster's attention averted to the burning manor ahead. The path to the square from their street was barricaded by overturned wagons, crates, tables, and an assortment of other objects. Though it was likely not the only road to the square, the fires and smoke cloaked the adjacent streets behind a thick, gray haze – making it impossible to discern another route.

As the white-haired lord surveyed the manor, Tom hobbled toward a nearby shop and collapsed. He pressed his back against the wall. A pool of blood soon surrounded him. "I…can't...go…" he wheezed.

The pale nobleman's lips curled, revealing he had taken notice of the fact his companion's veins had turned an unnatural grey color. A strange film began to cover the man's eyes; obscuring their brown irises behind milky white clouds.

"You did a brave thing, coming with me." Lord Armster whispered softly. What may have been sympathy appeared in his eyes, though it was so fleeting Walter scarcely detected it before it vanished. "Many other soldiers I served with, even those who came to the Holy Land voluntarily, had to be dragged out to fight in circumstances less dire. I will ensure your sacrifice was not in vain."

"Just get it over wit-"

"May God's love be with you." Before the man could finish, the lord lifted his sword and struck the man's head from his neck. The head flew across the ground and landed a few feet away; its expression frozen in rage. Dark crimson blood gushed from the corpse's severed neck as it fell sideways onto the ground with a dull thump.

The deed done; Lord Armster turned away from the corpse, lowered himself to one knee, and withdrew the rosary from his pocket. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, whispering an earnest prayer so quietly only God Himself likely heard it. Whilst he prayed, fire mercilessly consumed the buildings around him. Smoke billowed into the air. Tiny embers flickered through the darkness like fireflies. After a few moments, the lord rose to his feet and headed for the manor.

The manor, constructed primarily from wood, was nearly black from fire. Unhindered by the flames, the pale nobleman lifted his foot and kicked the front entrance door in. He rushed inside; searching earnestly for a path through the home to the square on the other side. Fire licked the walls and ceiling. To escape the smoke-filled main floor, the nobleman lowered his head, lifted his cape, and covered his mouth. Coughing and gaging, smoke filled his lungs as he sought the home's second floor. Fortunately, the staircase – partially aflame but still somewhat sound, awaited him in what once had been a hallway leading to a grand parlor on the other side.

With the swiftness of a devil, the lord hurried up the partially burned staircase and rushed to the furthest side of the building, which faced the square. Upon sighting a large window in one of its many bedchambers, he stormed through the room's partially charred doorway, pausing briefly to cough as smoke billowed through the home. To his chagrin, a large man, dressed in finely crafted yellow and gold robes, awaited him in front of the room's only window – and his only escape. Blood drenched the front of the man's robes. The creature stumbled toward him, slowed somewhat by its swollen, gout-ridden feet.

Its fat, jeweled fingers reached for the human's cape. In response, Lord Armster raised his sword. With a furious yell, his silvery-white form charged into the brute. Whilst the portly creature bellowed in objection, the pale nobleman ran his sword through the creature's chest and forced it – and himself – through the window behind them.

A loud crash sounded. Shards of glass and debris flew as the lord – and the undead aristocrat – tumbled from the manor's second-story window. Walter leaned forward on his perch, his mouth nearly falling agape at the nobleman's unexpected recklessness.

The large aristocrat landed first with a grotesque slap. Lord Armster landed barely a second later. Cushioned by the aristocrat's heavy bulk, the pale lord rolled off the writhing creature and staggered to his feet. As it sought to drag him backward, the white-haired lord withdrew his sword from its chest, lifted it up in front of him, and plunged it into the aristocrat's skull. Blood sprayed across his silver armor, cape and robes.

Lord Armster released a low, shuddering gasp. With an agonized groan, his gauntlet-encased hand slid to his left side. After a moment, he lifted it away. Blood drenched his gauntlet and streamed down his arm. At first, the red-haired lord assumed the creature bit him during their descent. Yet, when pale nobleman turned toward the square, he caught the dull gleam of something reflecting the moonlight. A large piece of glass was impaled through the man's side; just beneath his ribcage.

Lord Armster lifted his sword. His other hand tried, unsuccessfully, to staunch the bleeding. A low, haggard cough escaped his throat as he forced his feet to move. The red-haired lord noticed the human did not remove the glass; likely knowing doing so could prove fatal. As the man's silvery-white form walked toward the fountain a short distance away, long, blood-soaked white hair swept across his back. His silvery cape, partially torn from the fall, whipped behind him as he went.

The moment he saw the lady's grey form seated atop the Golem's palm, Lord Armster raised his sword. A small, relieved smile crossed his lips as he whispered softly under his breath. "At last…Arabella." Briefly, his attention flitted to the smoke-covered sky – searching the heavens for the winged beast that deposited her there. His cold, solemn voice rose to a shout as he held his sword up and lifted his head. Moonlight spilled across his ashen face; illuminating his gleaming, dark blue spheres. "I know you're watching, fiend! Once I am done with that monster, your time of judgement shall be at hand!"

Sipping his wine, Walter smirked.

That time would never come.


	8. Anagnorisis

**Chapter 8**

Walter watched – his eyes wide with fury and excitement as Lord Armster entered the square. The pale nobleman stared up at the massive stone creature situated between him and the woman. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words left them. He gasped when the creature gently set the lady back down on the ground. The fact she was _alive_ and only a short distance away from him seemed to renew his determination. The man's brow furrowed; his intensity increasing when he saw her at last.

Before her gaze lifted to her lord, she gave the creature a sad look. Her grey-blue eyes brimmed with tears as she whispered. "It is not your fault."

Though visibly relieved to see Lord Armster's silvery form, her voice was unusually faint. For a moment, Walter's scowl lifted.

He watched her touch the creature's rough stone façade whilst she said. "You do not have to do this!"

After a short pause, the creature replied. "_Golem follows master command. Golem will protect lady. Golem will kill lord_."

The Golem turned away from her; its hulking form shadowing the white-haired lord as he approached. Despite his injuries, Lord Armster's steps remained swift. His steel plated boots clipped against the cobblestone. The man's blood-stained white hair swayed behind him. He lifted his sword; his dark blue eyes finally leaving her to focus upon the stone creature. Disgust filtered across his ashen face when he stopped a short distance away from it. With a huff, Lord Armster flicked back his heavy silver cloak. His hand gripped his blade's hilt whilst he surveyed the creature in search of a vulnerable point.

The Golem trudged methodically forward. The creature's heavy stone feet hit the ground in a thunderous rhythm. When it moved, its stone façade chafed whilst the chains hanging from its wrists scraped against the road. The creature's cold red eyes beamed through the shadows. Streams of moonlight cascaded across its hunched back and prominent ape-like arms; shadowing its front so only its ominous red eyes were visible.

Walter leaned forward and took a long sip of amarone, his dark eyes flickering with growing excitement. His gaze flitted momentarily to the lady standing solemnly by the fountain. Her pale eyes followed the Golem and her lord's movements. The sadness on her face seemed to swallow her, for she neither moved nor spoke.

When the Golem at last reached the white-haired lord, it lifted one of its mighty arms and swung it directly at the man's smaller frame. Lord Armster jumped back, narrowly missing the creature's massive fist as it collided into the ground in front of him.

Upon hitting the cobblestone, its thoughts echoed. "_Golem will follow master's command._ _Golem will protect lady_. _Golem will kill Lord_."

The pale-haired nobleman backed away; his eyes widening in astonishment. He stared up at its expressionless face, his surprise revealing his acknowledgment of the words emanating from the creature's thoughts.

After regaining himself, the white-haired lord lifted his sword up, his cold blue eyes narrowing whilst he snapped. "Get out of my way, you useless hunk of rock!"

Unhindered by the man's threat, the golem moved its massive arm in a wide swing – barely missing Lord Armster's chest as he charged forth. When its massive arms swung back the other way in a wide arc, he ducked and swung at the leviathan in retaliation. The steel edge of his sword hit the creature's legs with a loud clatter – sending bits of stone flying off in all directions. The crusader's long, white hair flew around his face as he assaulted the creature. After striking pieces off its legs and back, Lord Armster cried out when the creature's heavy fist collided against his breastplate and sent him hurtling backward.

The moment its stone fist touched the man's gleaming steel shield, its resolute thoughts echoed once more. A hint of urgency seemed to exist within its voice; though Walter could not discern for certain if he had truly heard it at all or if it was merely a byproduct of the creature's action.

"_Golem will follow master's command. Golem will protect lady! Golem will kill lord!_"

Lord Armster hit the ground with a loud crash. Had he not worn his breastplate; the creature's fist would have likely snapped all the bones in his ribcage. The pale nobleman released low, haggard wheeze as he lay there, like toy cast aside by an angry child. After regaining his senses, he stumbled to his feet. With a loud roar, he charged at the creature once again and swung his sword at its legs. In an effort to avoid him, the golem hurtled its massive form into the air and slammed itself on the ground with a shattering boom. Its attack caused a shockwave to rip through the ground; sending stone and dirt catapulting through the air with reckless abandon. The shockwave sent the lord hurtling backward once again and skittering across the ground behind it.

"_Golem will follow master's command! Golem will protect lady! Golem will kill lord!_"

With an exhausted groan, the white-haired lord forced himself to stand. His gleaming eyes stared up at the creature hatefully as if his gaze alone could obliterate it. As the Golem lifted both of its massive arms into the air, the white-haired nobleman hurtled himself toward it once again – this time running behind it. The steel edge of his sword collided against the back of its vulnerable legs.

The Golem's fists smashed against the ground with a resounding boom; its thunderous power nearly deafening Walter despite his relatively safe distance.

Lady Rohesia backed toward the fountain, her apprehension increasing as the Golem whirled to face the small human defacing its back. Its glowing eyes focusing upon the lord.

Lord Armster rolled out of the way, barely avoiding its crushing fists, which came down upon the earth as if to shatter it. The moment the creature hit the ground's stone facing, its thoughts echoed.

"_Golem will follow master's command! Golem will protect lady! Golem will kill lord! Golem will follow master's command! Golem will protect lady! Golem will kill lord!_"

It continued to hit the ground, its voiceless words reverberating through the darkness while its white-haired challenger hacked it to pieces. Stone and debris flew into the air and skittered haphazardly around the creature's hulking form.

With a haggard breath, the lord ceased his assault and staggered back. Blood flowed from his wounded shoulder and side; streaming down his leg and chest as he paused, overcome by exhaustion and lightheadedness. The man's pale face, which appeared even whiter in the moonlight, seemed to lose whatever color remained. Barely able to stand, he gazed up at the hulking creature as it thundered toward him; its glowing red spheres focusing upon his smaller frame as if he were nothing but a fly.

The red-haired lord's dark spheres gleamed. Despite the pale nobleman's valiant efforts, he would fall no differently than the rest. He loved watching the 'grand finale.' Wisps of deep, crimson red hair tickled his cheeks as he flicked his cloak; allowing the wind to brush it back whilst he stood proudly above, anticipating the game's imminent conclusion. The lady's life would belong to _him_, at last.

As the Golem raised its arm, Lady Rohesia ran forth. Her voice echoed across the square. "No! Stop! You don't have to listen to him! You are your _own_ master, golem! _No one_ owns you!" The woman's grey-blue eyes focused on the creature's hulking form. She skidded to a halt a safe distance away, the skirt of her long, grey dress fanning across the ground around her. "He has no right to command you! He is using you the same way he is using Lord Armster, the townspeople and _me_! You don't deserve this!"

The Golem's thoughts echoed once more. "_Golem…follows master's command… Golem will protect lady_!"

Walter gave the creature a scrutinizing look. As the golem raised its arm, its glowing red eyes appeared to flicker a moment. It was so fleeting, he doubted it had occurred at all.

The creature's fists collided into the cobblestone ground in front of Lord Armster – narrowly missing him. The crusader threw himself out of the way; barely avoiding landing on the glass shard impaled in his side. As he struggled to get back up, the Golem's massive fists slammed into the earth inches away from his face.

The man's wide, dark blue eyes stared at the creature in furious astonishment. He rolled out of the way, his voice carrying through the darkness. "What the _hell_ are you trying to do, Arabella?" He shouted, his fury nearly matching hers. "You cannot reason with a pile of _rocks_! It has neither a soul nor a conscience-"

"Oh, I suppose you are an expert on that?" The woman spat, her eyes widening as she averted her attention from him to the Golem's expressionless face. "Golem, _please_! I'm so goddamn tired of all this fighting and death! I am not worth your life or Lord Armster's!"

"Don't be foolish!" The pale lord glared; his hand momentarily covering his wounded side as he sought to staunch the bleeding once again. "It does not care what you want or think!"

The lady returned his remark with a frustrated sigh. "Neither do you, milord."

"That's not true!" He protested; his eyes narrowing as he regained himself and stared at the creature standing between him and the lady. "I care more than anyone, for you are the only one who-"

As the Golem stomped toward him, Lord Armster's voice trailed away. When the creature was about half-way to the white-haired lord, it stopped and fell momentarily still.

Walter gasped, nearly throwing his wine glass at the behemoth. Uncertain why it stopped, he gritted his teeth. The game _should_ have ended by now. While glancing between the lady and the Golem, confusion overcame his rage. Even the _suggestion_ that he was mistaken stunned him. His muscles tensed as he stood, hidden above, watching her. The woman's unwavering resolve drew his attention – as well as his doubt.

He should have chosen the Undead Parasite for this task instead. The Parasite would have glided through the town's streets, mercilessly devouring inhabitants before burning the pale nobleman to a crisp with its fiery breath. Enraged by his error, the red-haired lord sighed. Had he not still required the Golem's service; he would have blasted the pathetic thing to pieces right in front of her, if only to prove his authority.

As the battle was not yet over, he remained on his perch – silently observing her; torn between fascination and resentment.

"_Golem…follows master's command. Golem will protect lady! Golem will…kill lord._"

Walter stared, overcome by disbelief, as the creature turned its hulking frame toward her. It's glowing red eyes focused upon the woman's sorrowful expression. Moonlight spilled across the golem's jagged, rocky exterior – momentarily casting a shadow across its expressionless face. The creature seemed to stare at her a moment; its silence neither acknowledging or dismissive.

Lady Rohesia stared back at it; her lips parting whilst tears welled in her eyes. As she drew a breath to speak, Lord Armster lifted his sword and charged at the creature. With a loud scream, he swung the blade at the creature's right shoulder and brought it down upon it with all his might. A loud, rumbling boom echoed across the square. The Golem's right arm detached and fell to the ground. Seemingly startled into action by the man's injury, the creature whirled and swung its remaining appendage; its wide, swift blows nearly catching him several times.

Lord Armster continued to position himself at the creature's backside, following its feet whenever it tried to turn and face him.

As his blade relentlessly collided against the golem's crumbling stone façade, the creature's thoughts continued to echo whenever its fist hit the ground. "_Golem will follow master's command! GOLEM WILL PROTECT LADY!"_

"_No_! _Please, Golem_!_" _Lady Rohesia screamed, her voice nearly lost in the sound of Lord Armster's sword as the man delivered several blows to the creature's vulnerable frame. "Golem, please return to me! you don't have to-"

With a loud snarl, Lord Armster leapt into the air and hit the creature's other shoulder, sending its remaining limb flying into a nearby building with an enormous crash. Limbless and crumbling, the final blow done, the creature fell backward onto the ground – its red eyes flickering whilst its singular statement lingered in the silence that followed.

After slowly turning its head, its imperceptible red eyes gazed at the lady's sorrowful face. "Golem will follow master command. _Golem will protect lady. Golem will protect lady. Golem will…protect lady. Golem…will…protect…lady. Golem…..will…..protect….lady….golem…will…protect….lady...go…...lem…will…..pro….tect….la...dy..._"

The Golem's bright red spheres faded to black.

Lady Rohesia left her position by the fountain. Her eyes stared sorrowfully ahead at Lord Armster standing a short distance from the rocky debris. The woman's steps echoed across the square's desolate emptiness. Upon arriving before the array of boulders piled atop the ground, her delicate hand rested upon a pile of rubble that had once been the creature's fist. As she gazed at its remains, tears dripped down her face and stained her cheeks. She picked up a small brown pebble from its unmoving pieces.

After giving the pebble a wistful look, she tucked it away in the pocket of dress and reluctantly continued onward.

The white-haired lord panted heavily, his eyes wild with rage and determination. He placed a hand over his wounded side, forcing himself to reach her as trickles of blood poured down his leg. His face, now sheet-white instead of its typical pale hue, stared ahead. The sweat and blood on his skin glistened in the moonlight.

After collecting herself, Lady Rohesia flew across the blood-soaked cobblestone road, her grey dress fanning around her as she went. Lord Armster lifted his arm, prepared to drive his sword through her. Upon realizing it was _she_ and not a monster, he released his hold upon the blade's hilt and let it drop to the ground. The sword landed upon the cobblestone with a metallic clatter; its polished blade reflecting the moon. She pulled him close to her, unwilling to let go even when he flinched from her touch. The tension running through him slowly released.

His faint voice broke the silence. "You…are safe…"

Arabella's lips formed a sad, knowing smile. She lowered her head, curtaining her relieved expression behind her long hair. "It is you who is safe, milord."

"What are you talking about?" He attempted to get up, but exhaustion – coupled by his injury – made the effort futile. "Leave me. There could be more wandering about…I must…keep going…"

"You have killed them all." She assured.

"My war never ends…" He buried his face in her shoulder. "Whether it is here…or in the east…"

The sadness in his voice caused her eyes to brim with tears. "No, that isn't true, my love."

Walter stared at the scene, his pupils flickering crimson red. His lips curled into a sneer the moment he heard the unexpected fondness in her voice. He tried to ignore it, but the sight of their embrace made his grip upon his glass tighten until it shattered into a hundred pieces. He tossed the broken remnants away; the fury in his eyes increasing as he watched her hand lightly caress Lord Armster's cheek.

The game was _not_ supposed to end like this. Somehow, the man managed to defeat over two hundred zombies _and_ the golem he drafted as a last resort. The human was truly a force to be reckoned with. The vengeful part of him desired to murder the man then and there. Yet, bitterness consumed him, for he could not bear despising himself for killing a _human_. He had just begun to curse aloud to himself when Lord Armster's body fell limp. Walter could still detect the man's heartbeat; indicating life still flowed through him. If he waited long enough, it would only be a matter of time before Lord Armster bled to death. Perhaps, victory would be his, after all – albeit delayed. His scowl slowly lifted into a smirk.

To his vexation, the lady refused to accept the man's death. She looked up and searched the burning rooftops surrounding the square. Unable to find him, her voice echoed through the empty streets.

"Lord Bernhard! I know you're watching me! All your monsters are defeated. Show yourself, now!"

Walter remained on the rooftop. He stared down at her frowning expression; his lips resuming their former scowl. He was not a pet she could call on a whim. All he had to do was wait for the lord to die and she would be at his mercy. It pleased him to know he still controlled the game's conclusion, despite their vain efforts to best him.

When he did not appear, she shook her head and slowly hauled the man toward a small wooden hay cart. It took her several long minutes, but her determination was so resolute that when she could no longer support his full weight, she gently laid him on the ground, grasped him by the wrists, and dragged him instead. The man's armor ground against the stone in protest, the earth below ruining its once gleaming surface. Upon reaching the cart, she lowered the back ramp and pulled him up until his unconscious body rested atop the hay. Panting and exhausted, she leapt off the cart and hurried down the street.

Walter's birds-eye view allowed him to see her heading toward the scorched gates where Lord Armster tethered his horse. She grasped the silver equine's bridle, gave it a reassuring pat on the neck, and hastily untied it. Upon freeing the animal, she clicked her tongue and urged it to follow her into the desolate town. The horse pricked its ears forward, its eyes widening as it caught the distinct scent of blood and death. The equine drew its head back, its throat releasing a frightened whinny that made Lady Rohesia jump in surprise. She patted the horse's sleek neck once again, whispering words of encouragement in its ear as she urged it onward. After a few tense minutes, the equine calmed and permitted her to lead it to the cart.

Realizing she was not going to relinquish the man's life easily; Walter gritted his teeth as his hand balled into a fist. The lord's death would have been more convenient for them both. With a low huff, he dove off the roof and glided silently onto the fountain. He landed upon the angel's outstretched hands. Walter's lips formed a wry smirk, for the angel now appeared to be holding his majestic form up before God Himself. The water flowing from the statue's outstretched hands parted gently around his boots.

The lady was so focused on positioning the horse in front of the cart that she took no notice of him.

Sensing his presence before the woman, the equine snapped its head back and reared. She barely managed to avoid its thrashing hooves. Before she was able to grasp its bridle, the horse took off across the square and bolted down the smoke-filled street.

"No!" she yelled, as the hoof beats faded into silence. With a heavy sigh, she turned around to face him. When their eyes met, the fury in her voice returned. "Lord Bernhard, you have lost this game!"

Walter chuckled, his dark eyes glinting as he looked down at her from his perch. "Not yet." The confidence in his voice was unmistakable. "Although Lord Armster defeated my monsters, this is not yet concluded. He will die, eventually – and your life will be mine when that happens. It will be the perfect ending to this delightful little game."

"We agreed that if he defeated your monsters, his life would be spared. I do not see any monsters, do you?" Nearly trembling in rage, she stormed over to the fountain and looked up at him scornfully. "Perhaps I am mistaken? It appears I am looking at one!"

"Your insults are meaningless." He snapped, his eyes tinting a shade of red. With an audible huff, he tossed his head, his lips curling when his rebuke failed to subdue her. She continued to glare at him, as if by doing so, she could will him to surrender. "What do you demand? We agreed that I would not interfere." He replied. "Thus, I shall gladly claim my rightful victory the moment his wretched soul leaves this world."

"The game is _over, _you arrogant, sodding cunt!" She shouted, her words confronting him with their boldness. "As _you_ started this, you will help me return him to the manor and end it!"

"I am not a physician!" He hissed. "The game ends when I say it does, not you! I owe you _nothing_."

"It is your fault the horse ran away!" She snapped. "You sabotaged my only chance to save his life!"

"What a pity." Walter remarked.

"Don't be a sore loser. I am sure, before long, you will find someone else to torment."

"Perhaps, it will be you?" He drew his lips back, revealing the points of his needle-like fangs.

"Of course, any petty 'victory' will do, won't it? You are unbelievable!" Upon seeing his indifference, her tone softened somewhat. She looked at him imploringly, her fair face appearing almost white in the moonlight. "I cannot offer you anything in return except-"

"Your life - which I shall take regardless after he dies."

"Not if I take it myself!" All at once, her fury gave way to despair. "If my death ends this game, so be it. I did not realize you would murder an entire town just for the sake of this stupid, sarding game! All those people died because of _me_. I exchanged hundreds of lives to save just one. If I cannot save Lord Armster, all of this was for naught!"

Walter stared at her in disbelief. It had not occurred to him that she would grieve the lives of strangers. To him, they were merely expendable – but not to her. He paused a long moment, his thoughts whirling as he came to understand that if he did not intervene, she could follow through.

She walked to Lord Armster's sword and picked it up. "At least death will rid me of you!" She shouted, her rage filling the empty streets. "Thank Jesus Christ, I shall finally be free of all this! I would rather see Lord Armster in hell, than your smug, ginger face on earth!"

She held the blade in both hands; the numbness in her eyes startling him into decision. His callous tone tempered somewhat. "Such dramatics are unnecessary. Hell would be too good for you. You will continue to return to my castle – _and to_ _me_ – until I decide otherwise. Though you call me a monster, I am capable of mercy, should I choose to grant it."

Without waiting for her agreement, he leapt off the fountain and walked to the cart. Lord Armster lay unconscious in the hay, his face deathly white as blood continued streaming from his wounds. With an impatient huff, he gathered the man's limp body in his arms. The scent of the man's blood temporarily attracted his attention. He gazed at the nobleman's smooth features, silently admiring him until Arabella's voice cut through the silence.

She exhaled, dropping the sword upon the ground with a loud clatter. "I was beginning to worry you would let me follow through with it. I had not planned for that circumstance…"

The red-haired lord's eyes flickered red. "You think you can manipulate _me_?" He seethed. He despised her ability to manipulate him almost as much as he admired it.

"Well, yes." The woman's lips formed a small, coy grin. With a mocking bow, she added. "You agreed to help, did you not?"

"Perhaps, I shall change my mind?" A low, throaty chuckle vibrated from his throat. "You have no power over me, human."

"Apparently, I do not need it."

"_Apparently_." He scowled.

"I fear Lord Armster will not survive the journey back. I will attend to him and his servants. You must accompany Justine and bring her father."

"What for?" He asked; his eyes narrowed.

The lady shook her head and began running down the road ahead of him. As she went, she called back in reply. "Sir Gandolfi is a renowned alchemist. He has far more experience creating healing remedies than a physician."

"So, I have heard." Walter followed her. Though much faster, he did not want to leave her behind – lest she fall victim to something _other_ than him. However, he suspected if she accompanied him on foot, the man would be dead within a few hours. Thus, he added. "Find Lord Armster's horse and ride it back to the manor. The beast cannot have gone far. If you want the man to live, I must bring him there myself."

She stopped in the middle of the road and turned to him, her pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight. With a sigh, she bowed her head; her long golden hair fell gracefully around her face. "I am _somewhat_ in your debt, Lord Bernhard."

"Do not acquire debts you cannot repay."

With a huff, he moved past her down the pathway and vanished into the night.

* * *

When he arrived at Armster manor, he brought the unconscious man to the doors and knocked. A woman with carrot colored hair plaited into a long French braid answered. Upon seeing the red-haired man's tall form standing before her, she let out a short gasp and stepped back. Her eyes widened when she sighted Lord Armster's unconscious body draped in his arms. The man's long, white hair hung like sheets of silk and his eyes were lightly closed, as if he had fallen into a deep slumber. Blood stained his silver robes red and trickled from his wounded shoulder and side. Though the nobleman's armor made his lithe form somewhat heavy, he had no trouble carrying him.

Walter gave the woman a serious look and bowed his head. His lack of panic calmed her somewhat. "Lord Armster is gravely injured and requires your attention. Bring him to his chamber and see to him."

After gathering her composure, the woman nodded, her green eyes still focused upon him as she fretfully looked over her shoulder and called out. "Come at once! Lord Armster is in a grave state! Prepare a wash basin and cloths immediately!"

"Where is Justine?" The red-haired lord asked. His voice prompted the young lady to return her gaze to him.

After hesitating a moment, she replied. "She was waiting for the lady's return. Tis' late; I do not know if she is still awake."

"Fetch the child." His voice left no room for question. "She will accompany me to find Sir Gandolfi." The confidence in his tone gave the lady little incentive to question him. She did not even know who he was, yet his mannerisms and authority implied she dare not ask.

Uncertain how to address him, she bowed and beckoned him inside. "Yes, sir."

As it was his first time at the manor, he observed his surroundings with silent intrigue. The manor's entranceway boasted vaulted ceilings and elaborate marble floors. A grand staircase directly across the entrance led to the manor's second floor and great hall. Numerous statues and portraits lined the hallway beside the staircase. While not as magnificent as his castle, the manor's impressive elegance welcomed him. The moment he stepped inside, numerous servants ran down the staircase and adjacent hallway to greet him. Walter passed Lord Armster's unconscious body into their waiting arms. He watched the group of eight servants carefully carry the man up the stairs whilst the ginger-haired young lady followed suit.

After waiting a few minutes, Justine flew down the steps toward him, her chestnut eyes bright with worried excitement. Despite how late it was, the child had made herself presentable in her cream dress and white smock. The strange fabric doll accompanied her; its dangling arm tightly clutched in her hand. The doll's large, peculiar red bead gleamed in the candlelight.

"Lord Walter! What are you doing here? Where is Lady Rohesia? I've been waiting for her to come back forever! Anneliese said you asked for me?"

As always, the child seemed to have a hundred questions, all of which required an answer at once. With a sigh, the red-haired lord turned toward the door and waved for her to follow. "Lady Rohesia will arrive within the hour." He answered curtly, his voice hinging with impatience as she ran beside him and stopped to stare up at his unusually pale complexion. Though her staring annoyed him, the child was oblivious of it. "The lady requests your father's aid. You will take me to him so that I may bring him here. If we do not act quickly, Lord Armster will die before dawn."

"What happened to Lord Armster?" She insisted, ignoring the curtness in his voice. "How did he get hurt? Was the lady hurt, too?"

"Lord Armster was injured playing a game." The red-haired lord emerged into the familiar darkness of night. "Your lady is safe, though very concerned about his wellbeing. If you are too, you best take me to your father immediately."

"Wait – you _left_ her behind?" The child's expression shifted from curiosity to indignation. "Lord Walter! Don't you remember the bad men? What if they come back?"

"Do you truly think your lady is weak?" He snipped, his lips curling into a smirk despite his annoyance. "She has taken Lord Armster's horse. None shall dare harm her, lest they provoke my ire."

"What does ire mean?"

"If you do not cease questioning me, you will find out."

The child's light footsteps tapped against the ground as she ran ahead. For every step he took, the child had to take three to stay in front of him. As he watched her scamper through the darkness, his scowl slowly disappeared. The child's fabric doll jostled and dangled helplessly at her side like a prisoner. As she led him into the open fields outside the village, he observed the quiet nightscape. The full moon hung low in the sky, making the grass look like the rippling waves of the sea under the wind's gentle guidance.

Unsurprisingly, her cheerful prattling shattered his enjoyment of the night. "I wish we lived closer to Creightel but papa says this place is better. Papa always goes out at night to pick stuff. I asked if he would take me, but he says I'm not old enough. So, he and mama told me I would go to Armster manor and serve Lady Rohesia. Maybe when I'm grown up, I'll learn how to heal people, too."

"Plenty of girls your age dream of becoming a lady themselves one day…just like Lady Rohesia."

"My lady is kind but seems very sad. I don't think being a lady is as fun as they say."

The child's perceptiveness surprised him, even though his serious expression failed to reveal it. "What of your mother?" He asked. Though he cared not, he preferred to manage the conversation so at least whatever information he gained was not completely useless.

The child looked over her shoulder at him. Her chestnut colored eyes briefly met his before she replied. "Mama is very busy and didn't want me getting into mischief."

"Busy?" He asked; his brow furrowing until she continued.

"People have babies _all the time_. I don't really understand why they like them so much – all they do is cry and whine, like my annoying little brother. They smell pretty awful, too."

After a moment of consideration, he understood her implication. Unlike adults, whose awareness was fully developed, the child's naivety perplexed him. Though he did not care to understand why children and infants were so beloved, he suspected their ignorance and innocent, wide-eyed curiosity was one reason among many. Despite considering the child somewhat of a pest, he enjoyed her disregard for subtlety, as it contrasted him almost entirely. He knew that one day; she would eventually learn to withhold her thoughts, as most adults did.

"Your mother is a _midwife_." He observed, giving the child's unarticulated implication its proper designation.

She shrugged. "Mama took me to see a baby come out once. She told me it is beautiful and a one of God's gifts to us but…I just thought it was gross. The lady screamed a lot the whole time and told her husband it was his fault and-"

"Is that your home?" He asked – attempting to change the conversation as quickly as possible.

The details of childbirth were far beyond anything he wished to know. As far as he was concerned, such things were best handled by the fairer sex. From what he understood of it, men were almost never present during the event. In addition to avoiding becoming an unwanted distraction, most men preferred to escape the chaos and apprehension.

A modest home revealed itself behind a thicket. Its stone exterior, and the surrounding large trees, provided ample fortification against the elements and unsavory wanderers. A well-tended garden filled with plants, herbs and flowers grew around the building - some of which were unknown to him. Though somewhat close to Creightel, it was far enough away to remain unseen by all except those already aware of its existence. Given what he knew of Sir Gandolfi's controversial profession, its inconspicuousness was unsurprising. As he approached, his attention shifted to the small black stone around his neck. Though he doubted the human knew what it was, he could not eliminate the possibility.

While the child hurried ahead, he tucked the necklace discreetly beneath his shirt.

Upon arriving, Justine led him to the entrance sheltered by a large stone archway. "We're here! I will get papa!" Without waiting, she pulled the heavy oak door open and stuck her head inside. "Papa! Papa! Come quickly, Lord Armster has been hurt! We've been sent to find you!"

"Justine! Where have you been?" A slim woman flung the door open.

The woman wore a long pale blue dress. Her matching couvre-chef and wimple covered her hair. Her lightly tanned complexion indicated she spent a great deal of time outside. Walter did not even need to guess she was the child's mother, for she shared the girl's chestnut colored eyes.

"Why did you make me worry?" She scolded, her brow furrowing when the child skittered behind him sheepishly. "I expected you to return hours ago!"

Then, as if suddenly realizing Walter's existence, she gasped and backed away, her eyes widening into saucers as she looked up at his pale complexion and crimson hair.

Before he could speak, she crossed herself and bowed her head, her voice falling to an uneasy whisper. "Good Lord, who are you? Why do you accompany my daughter?" Then, glaring at the child hiding behind him, she snapped. "What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Justine? As if the fact you are late is not enough-"

"Mama!" The child protested. Her voice was shrill with dismay. "Lord Armster is hurt and needs papa's medicine! As for this man…" She pointed to the red-haired lord standing on the doorstep. "He is Lord Walter of Eternal Night. He came with me to find papa."

"Lord of Eternal Night?" The woman jerked her head back, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What nonsense is this? Is this some kind of game?"

"Good evening," Walter began, his graciousness somewhat excusing his interruption. He made a short bow, his lush red hair cascading around his face and shoulders as he continued assuredly. "Time is our enemy, and I must speak with Sir Gandolfi. Your husband's services are requested urgently."

"How do you know the Armster family?" She asked, the skepticism in her voice demanding his answer. "Lord Armster is a private man. It seems unlikely he would consort with someone of your…character."

Walter's lips formed a faint smirk. He bowed his head again; his graciousness attempting to ease her doubt. "I am merely an acquaintance. I discovered Lord Armster in a grave state while out hunting. His white skin and hair are, regrettably, difficult to miss…even after nightfall."

"Didn't you say Lord Armster was hurt playing a game?" The child asked, her impetuousness irking him somewhat.

His smirk transformed into a patient smile. Without missing a beat, the red-haired lord nodded. "Yes, he was. He is fortunate I happened to be in the area."

"And what sort of game was Lord Armster playing?" The woman asked, her voice still caged by doubt.

Walter returned his gaze to her, his smile fading as he replied darkly. "A most dangerous one, given his condition. Should he die, I hope Lady Rohesia understands our unfortunate delay returning…"

Though still unsatisfied, the woman gave a silent nod. When it seemed she would go and seek out her husband, a man's voice called from within the home. "Is everything alright, Lynette? Who are you speaking with?"

"Come quickly! Lord Armster is in a very bad way!" The urgency in her voice beckoned the man's attention.

Moments later, a man emerged onto the doorstep beside her. Walter observed him for a moment, noting his somewhat tall stature and tanned skin. He wore a long dark blue and gold trimmed long sleeve jacket over matching ankle-length robes and brown boots. His hair, neatly plaited into loose braids, rested atop his broad, muscled shoulders. Though he appeared to be in his early thirties, his pale blonde hair revealed several white strands. His piercing blue eyes and sharp features gave him a somewhat authoritative presence.

The moment the man's gaze fell upon the stranger, Walter bowed his head. "Good evening. Are you Sir Rinaldo Gandolfi?"

The man looked at him a moment, his lips forming a slight frown whilst he replied cautiously. "Who, may I ask, are you?"

Walter returned the man's question with a practiced smile. "I am Lord Walter Bernhard. Lady Rohesia sent me to find you. While I would _love_ to stay and chat, Lord Armster draws closer to death each moment."

"I am not sure how I can help? I am an alchemist, not a doctor." He shook his head, his frown deepening when the red-haired stranger's smile refused to fade.

Ever-patient, Walter replied. "The lady specifically requested your assistance. Her willingness to entrust you with Lord Armster's life proves she holds you in high regard, Sir Gandolfi."

The man paused a moment, his frown lifting somewhat until the woman beside him exclaimed. "Surely, you don't mean to go with him? Lord Armster is highly connected with the church. We should not draw more attention to ourselves than necessary-"

"Given Lord Armster's condition, I doubt he would pursue those who saved his life. Should he be allowed to die, however…" The red-haired lord's eyes glinted. "You would no longer have his protection. He is quite respected by the church. I doubt they would refrain from investigating such an important loss."

After another pause, the man nodded. Then, turning to woman at his side, he said. "Unfortunately, he is right. I will go and see what, if anything, can be done for Lord Armster. Please find my satchel and bring it to me; it contains some potions I made a few days ago and other herbs that may help."

"You are a far kinder man than I deserve." She bowed her head, her lips lifting into a weak smile before turning to the stranger before them. Her once harsh tone relented somewhat. "Forgive my rudeness, Lord Bernhard. I shall return in a moment." Before disappearing into the house, her gaze fell upon the child hiding behind the red-haired lord's tall frame. The woman's voice regained its former terseness. "Justine, you are to come inside and go straight to bed."

The little girl's large, chestnut eyes widened. With a disappointed huff, she protested. "But mama, I want to return with Lord Walter-"

Unwilling to listen to the girl's complaint, the woman's brow furrowed. Before she could reply, Rinaldo shook his head, his stern tone implying it was not a matter for discussion. "You will do as your mother says."

Without another word, the little girl reluctantly marched toward the door. Before entering, she turned around a final time, her eyes gazing up at the red-haired lord's face whilst she sighed. "Good night, Lord Walter. I hope you and the lady aren't mad I can't come."

Sensing the child's disappointment, Walter's attention flitted to the small creature. His lips lifted into a reassuring smile. "Not at all, child. You have done your lady a great service…and I am sure we will meet again." Then, reaching into the pocket of his surcoat, he withdrew a few gold coins. Upon hearing their metallic jingle, the child beamed in anticipation. He extended a gloved hand and presented them. "Take this for your trouble. I do hope your mother and father forgive me for keeping you."

"Lord Bernhard, we appreciate your generosity but that is unnecessary." The woman attempted to object, her eyes widening at the amount.

"I insist." Walter replied, maintaining his smile as the child accepted the coins.

Before the woman could return them, the girl scurried off with thievish enthusiasm. Having lost the battle, she sighed and followed her inside, calling back as she went. "I will return in a moment."

Now solely in the alchemist's company, Walter's attention focused on the man of interest.

Rinaldo's sternness waned. "She is a spirited girl - I was the same way at her age. I hope she did not trouble you too much, Lord Bernhard. Like me, her curiosity has a habit of finding trouble…" After pausing a moment, he added. "Justine told me all about you – and that you have a rather large castle called Eternal Night. She also mentioned you scared some 'bad men' away."

"Did she?" Walter's eyes narrowed. Then, catching himself, his lips maintained their practiced smile. "How…_interesting_."

Sensing the red-haired lord's concern, the alchemist bowed his head. "Please forgive my daughter, Lord Bernhard. Her imagination often leads her to exaggerate, as most children do. She used to be afraid of the dark until she visited you. Now, I've never seen her so confident."

"I am glad to hear that." Walter lifted his head, his dark spheres staring down at the human. When he detected not a trace of suspicion in the man's face, he chuckled under his breath. "She has a curious mind. I promised to show her the stars next time she visits. I hope you will indulge her this education despite her lateness returning."

Rinaldo's lips formed a careful smile. "It is her mother who needs convincing, not I. I will discuss it with her upon my return."

Walter nodded. Very few humans were truly skilled at alchemy. Those who were, usually tried to remain unnoticed by the church, for not everyone regarded their talents as highly as Lord Cronqvist and Lady Rohesia. Curiosity overshadowed his caution. He wondered if the man knew of the object he sought.

After considering it a moment, he looked the man in the eye. His dark, probing spheres contrasted the alchemist's grey ones. "I heard you are very skilled." He began, maintaining a casual tone to ensure his comment would not draw suspicion. "Tis' a shame the church does not appreciate your talents, Sir Gandolfi. Though I have studied your profession, information is, regretfully, difficult to obtain. I imagine most knowledge is not found in books?"

After giving the lord a scrutinizing look, Rinaldo nodded carefully. "I did not expect you studied alchemy?" His eyes widened. "Most knowledge is passed down from teacher to student or within families. As the church does not approve, discretion is necessary…as I am sure you understand."

"Indeed." Walter replied, his indifference giving way to intrigue. "I heard Lord Sebastian Cronqvist is one of your students. It seems even the church's most devout followers disagree about its ethics."

"Lord Cronqvist's family has a long history practicing alchemy." He replied, his voice lowering. "His position in the church guarantees they will look the other way. I am certain his son, Mathias, will exceed his father's talents. The boy is an academic prodigy from what I hear."

"Does Lord Cronqvist intend for you to tutor his son, as well?"

"Yes. I'm interested in finding out if Mathias is as quick a learner as they say. Though alchemy is somewhat…dangerous to teach, doing so is essential for its continuation. Mathias will undoubtedly be destined for great things, should he use his knowledge and skills wisely." Then, pausing a moment, the man's silvery eyes focused upon him. "I am curious to know more about _your_ study of it, Lord Bernhard. It is not every day I meet someone interested in the secret arts."

He returned the man's question with a practiced smile. "Knowledge is power, Sir Gandolfi. I am not immune to the allure of studying that which the church finds…unorthodox. Unfortunately, my knowledge is derived mostly from books. I assume, yours is not?"

Rinaldo fell silent. As if deliberating whether to continue, he gave the lord a cautious glance. "This is not something we should discuss openly."

"Of course." Upon noticing the human's caginess, his voice became somewhat terse.

Sensing the lord's discontent, Rinaldo added quietly. "Forgive my impoliteness, Lord Bernhard. I must be cautious for my family's sake."

The moment the alchemist finished speaking, his wife reappeared on the doorstep holding a worn brown leather bag.

After passing it to her husband, she bowed her head. "I hope it is not too late."

Walter glared at the human as soon as his attention shifted to his wife. He had hoped his efforts would yield more than vague, carefully worded answers. As his search for the Crimson Stone had thus far yielded nothing, he had hoped the man would divulge the source of his knowledge. Not desiring to waste more time in idle conversation, he whirled and stalked off.

The alchemist gave his wife a dubious look. Then, with a sigh, followed him into the night.

* * *

Upon arriving at the manor, the carrot-haired servant Walter remembered from his first visit admitted them inside. She led them up the manor's grand marble staircase to the second floor. The corridors' stone floors were covered with indigo and silver embroidered carpet. Its elegant interior captured Walter's interest. As they followed the servant to Lord Armster's chamber, he admired the manor's understated beauty. The walls were decorated with portraits of men and women, whom he could only guess were relatives or direct descendants of the Armster family. He was unsurprised to see that, though fair, none of the men and women had Lord Armster's peculiarly white skin and hair. The crusader was truly an abnormality, even among his own family.

After passing through several long corridors, the servant led them into a large chamber. Lord Armster lay unconscious in the bed. His long white hair splayed around his pale, expressionless face. Blood-covered bandages littered the room. Several servants stood at his bedside cleaning his wounds. He watched one of the servants wring a blood-covered cloth over a basin next to the bed. Streams of soft moonlight filtered through the arched windows lining the wall. The light cascaded across pallid nobleman; giving him a somewhat ghostly appearance.

He stared at the pale nobleman a moment. Without his armor and robes, the man appeared frailer than he expected. Though his arms and chest were toned and strong, his pallid skin made his already dire condition seem even worse. His gaze quickly settled upon Lady Rohesia kneeling at the lord's bedside. Even though he was unconscious, she whispered reassuring sentiments in his ear. Her long, golden hair fell around her face as she lowered her head and gently kissed his hand. The moonlight gave her the illusion of being an angel that had been sent to bring the man's soul to heaven.

As soon as her lips touched the lord's pale hand, Walter's eyes flashed a shade of red. He huffed under his breath; his anger rising even though he knew not why. Though he wanted to go to her, he consigned himself to the doorway.

Rinaldo ran into the room. Lady Rohesia, sighting him immediately, rose to her feet and hurried to greet him. "Sir Gandolfi! Thank you for coming so quickly. The servants managed to stop the bleeding before your arrival, but I fear it is not enough."

The alchemist bowed, holding his calm despite the tension permeating from the room and its occupants. "I will need room to work. You and his servants can do no more for him, now."

"I will not leave him!" She cried, her voice rising alongside her fearfulness. Her gaze once again returned to the pale nobleman lying in the bed.

"I will do all I can for your lord. I understand you want to remain by his side, but you must go. I will have a servant find you after I am done."

The man's firm but gentle response won her obedience. After giving the white-haired lord a final anxious look, she nodded. Her voice fell quiet. "Thank you, Sir Gandolfi. I will always be grateful."

"I am at your service, milady." Rinaldo bowed his head in acknowledgement. Then, his brow furrowing, he went to the lord's bedside and began unpacking an assortment of items – eggplant-shaped bottles filled with a bright blue liquid, small jars of herbs and assortments of glass vials containing mixtures unknown to all except him.

One by one, the room's occupants filed out. Lady Roheisa was the last to leave. Upon reaching the threshold, she looked up at him briefly. With a sigh, she drifted past him as if he was nothing more than a shadow.

The skirt of her dress fanned around her feet as she moved; her swift and quiet steps matching her anxious expression. Within a few moments, she entered the manor's great hall and retreated to the windows along the length of the rectangular room. She stared at the nightscape beyond; her face paling in the moonlight. As if to calm herself, she hummed the familiar little tune under her breath. He watched her silently, lost within the sound of her soft, lovely voice.

Although dawn was approaching, his thoughts focused only on her.

A twinge of something he had rarely felt suddenly constricted his throat. So seldom had he felt it that he had almost forgotten it was called _regret_. Yet, what he despised even more than regret was the fact she had somehow, likely without even knowing it, held a strange power over him.

Then, as if remembering she was not alone, her humming ceased. She turned her head and gazed at him sorrowfully; her grey-blue eyes gleaming in the moon's illuminating light. As he walked into the hall, his crimson form emerged through the shadows-cloaked room. When his dark spheres met hers, she lifted her head and said nothing.

After a long silence passed, the red-haired lord sighed. His voice softened when he at last spoke. "I did not expect Lord Armster's condition would affect you so deeply."

She gave him a scathing look. "_What_?"

After drawing a breath, he added – choosing his words _very_ carefully. "I regret you are saddened by tonight's events."

She stormed toward him. "_That_ is what you regret?" She accused. "Do _not_ regret _me_, Lord Bernhard!"

The red-haired lord's eyes flashed a shade of bright red. His hand balled into a fist as if prepared to shatter her to pieces. Yet, her sorrowful rage immobilized him. To maintain his calm, he tossed his head - curtaining his uneasiness behind the coils of his crimson hair. "Lord Armster's performance was impressive enough that I shall grant your wish to spare his life."

"That was not merely my _wish_; it was a part of our _agreement_. I do not know why I even try to explain. Clearly, you do not understand what it means to care about someone else."

Without another word, she returned her attention to the window. He stared after her, his eyes widening at her words. After considering her a moment, he slowly approached. After drawing a heavy breath, he touched her shoulder.

She looked up at him; noticing his thoughtful expression. After hesitating a long moment, he lifted his hand and cupped her face.

Then, whispering softly, he began.

"_Forgive_-"

Walter's lips formed a repugnant scowl. Unable to continue, he whirled and stormed swiftly from the hall, his cloak flying behind him as he went.


	9. Ingenue

**Chapter 9**

Walter sensed her return the moment she crossed the forest border. He drummed his gloved fingers on the arms of his throne, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. Instead of seeking her out, he remained where he was, unwilling to risk appearing overly eager. He knew the white-haired lord's narrow escape from death and slow recuperation was the reason for her absence, as over a month had passed since she visited. The memory of her holding Lord Armster's hand was burned into his mind.

After several hours, annoyance dissolved his contentment. He was determined to disallow her the privilege of avoiding him so easily. While she remained in his domain, he decided all things.

Detecting her somewhere in the cathedral wing, he wondered why she found it interesting. He resolved to remind her that the freedom he generously bestowed could easily be withdrawn.

With a heavy sigh, he rose from his throne and translocated from the tower in a flash of white light.

* * *

When he entered the cathedral wing's first of many massive hallways, numerous stained-glass windows lining the wall on his right cast a rainbow of soft colors across the floor. He approached the large arched doors to the immediate left of the hallway entrance. The gate-like carvings in their wood surface perfectly matched the area's grandeur. Before entering the small chapel within, he gave the cross engraved on the front a contemptuous glare.

Once inside, he noticed her kneeling at the base of the altar on the opposite side of the room. Beams of dim moonlight filtered through the stained-glass windows lining the walls. The dilapidated room confronted him with memories of times long past. A wide, faded green carpet with a gold and white border covered the aisle, which at one point had been lined with rows of pews. Remnants of their former glory persisted. He glanced at their discarded remains stacked in broken heaps along the walls. The few still intact were caked in thick layers of dust, long forgotten by time.

A lone rectangular table covered by an old white cloth was situated on the altar. Two gold candle holders were positioned on each side of the table. The crumbling wax candles within them cast a warm glow across her fair face. She was admiring the portrait of the Virgin Mary hanging on the room's furthest wall beside a massive pipe organ that once serenaded worshippers with music. With a quiet sigh, the woman bowed her head and folded her hands in front of her. Faint prayers fled her lips.

Walter walked up the aisle – giving the portrait of the Virgin a repugnant look – before setting his attention upon her. The lady's existence was satisfyingly tangible, for he could see, hear and touch her if he wished to. She did not exist within the pages of a book, nor did he require 'men of God' to convey her truth to him. Not wishing to interrupt her, he ascended the alter step, leaned nonchalantly against the table, and stared down at her in disapproval. She eventually lifted her head and stared back at him. Familiar deadness haunted her gaze. Her somber expression somewhat irritated him, for he had hoped his sudden appearance would delight, rather than depress her.

After emitting an exasperated sigh, she finally spoke. "What do you want of me, Lord Bernhard?"

"Tell me why you came to this..._place_." He began, his dark eyes glinting when he detected her melancholic tone. "Surely, it is not because you wish to pray?"

"That is precisely my intention." Her eyes narrowed at his smirking expression. "Forgive my candor, milord, but go sard yourself!"

Walter's eyes widened. Somewhat taken aback by her boldness, he straightened and stepped toward the edge of the alter, his tall form towering over her. His lips curled. "Rather than confessing to a fictional deity, tell me what troubles you. Unlike your so-called 'God,' I may listen, should you entertain me."

"No." Her lips formed a reproachful scowl.

"Must you be so miserable?" He hissed, returning her unhappiness with a displeased glare. He tossed his head, the coils of his thick red hair tumbling against his smooth face and broad shoulders.

"Must you be so arrogant?" Without giving him a chance to respond, she rose to her feet and folded her arms across her chest. Her grief-filled voice trembled. "I have to repent for my sins, for many innocents died because of me. I will carry the burden of their ill fates for the rest of my life. I was selfish and naïve to assume my decisions would have no consequences. Lord Armster also suffered terribly in his efforts to save me. Alas, my wretched soul does not deserve God's forgiveness."

"Why burden yourself with their fates?" A low chuckle escaped his throat before he added matter-of-factly. "Their weakness made them perfect fodder for the undead – just as I intended. Think no more on it, for they are unworthy of your attention."

"Oh, and I suppose you are?" She hissed sarcastically, her eyes blazing with sorrowful fury. She wrung her hands, her long hair falling against her face as she shook her head.

"Indeed, I am." His lips formed a proud smirk. "Thus, unlike your silent 'God,' I forgive you for caring so much about their deaths."

"You _forgive_ me?" Her once withdrawn demeanor vanished into rage. "You, too, are responsible for what happened!"

"Perhaps, though it matters little. Tis' interesting you lament their innocence whilst pitilessly leading others to the slaughter. Are all lives not equal, or are some more equal than others? Do enlighten me."

"I did not want those men to die either!" She cried, the hurt in her tone impossible to ignore. "They were going to ravage and kill Justine! I had to protect the child!"

"And you were more than willing to let me butcher them like cattle whilst unburdening yourself of guilt."

"God is the only one who can judge me, not you."

"There is no God, milady. So that leaves only I."

"I did not ask for _your_ forgiveness, you despicable cad." She glared up at him. After drawing a breath, her voice rose. "God's wounds! How dare you come in this place and think you have _any_ power to forgive me! You are nothing but a foul, wretched, plague-sore, puss-filled boil on my soul! Your presence breeds rats, much like the walking corpse you are! Zounds! Can't you just sard off and leave me in peace?"

Walter's eyes widened. Never in his existence had a woman chastised him so boldly. In fact, he could not remember any woman using so much…colorful language to describe him. Such descriptions may have flattered him, had they not come from her. Before he could retort, she threw her hands in the air, stomped toward the altar, and snatched a Bible off the table. Whilst clutching the book in her trembling hands, she fumed. "Who do you think you are? God? You are _far_ from that, Lord Bernhard! _God's nails_! I am so tired of your _nonsense_! Do you even realize how exhausting you are? No wonder God rejected you, you conceited cun-"

A low chuckle escaped his lips. Without batting an eye, he shook his index finger at her and pressed it mockingly to his lips. His smirk broadened. "Milady! Your tongue is so foul, not even the devil himself could guess it belongs to one so fair. Do not forget, you are in God's house."

"I thought this was _your_ castle, Lord Bernhard?"

"Of course, it is, woman." Giving her a disapproving look, he shrugged. "This wing is a blight upon me – as are _you_."

"I don't give a damn! You brought it upon yourself coming here!" She snapped.

"As did you, when you _chose_ to return!" Nearly trembling in rage, he slammed his fist into a nearby pew. Dust flew into the air when the old, wooden object splintered under his rage. Large chunks of wood skittered across the carpet and floor. Her eyes widened whilst he hissed. "I will do as I please. Temper tantrums shall get you nothing."

"Go walk in the sun!" With a loud yell, she flung the Bible at him with as much might as her human strength allotted.

A thunderous roar escaped his throat when the book hit him square in the cheek. The heavy object landed upon floor in front of him with a low thud. Taken aback by the assault, he punted it across the room with his boot, his voice trembling with amused fury. "Your self-righteousness would be amusing, were it not so pathetic. You claim to be a follower of Christ, yet you seek _me_, not God."

The woman brought a hand across her mouth, his assertion caging her words in her throat. After hesitating a moment, she shook her head. "Yes, that is true. Unlike father Genesio, you challenge me openly, rather than judging me behind the guise of a holy man. Many would judge and hate me for desiring your company more than God. I do not regret knowing you despite everything…and though I _should_ feel guilt, I do not. That is my confession, and my greatest sin."

Unwilling to engage him further, she whirled and stormed down the aisle to the other side of the room, the skirt of her long grey dress trailing after her as she went. Without looking at him, she flung the doors open and stepped into the hallway beyond.

Even though he wanted to punish her for her transgression, he was uncertain what was appropriate. With a snarl, he glided after her. He had barely stepped out of the chapel when her frightened cry echoed through the vast hallway.

Walter noticed her standing across the hallway a few feet from the door. Her face wore a look of trepidation as one of the area's undead skeletons shambled toward her. The creature's glowing red pupils glimmered ominously in the darkness. Its bones clicked and scraped across the stone floor as it approached, unabated by her terror. The woman's lack of foresight exasperated him, for he had warned her to be wary of the dangers lurking within his castle's rooms and halls. With a bored sigh, he walked toward the scene – knowing he would have to dispatch the undead wretch so it could not club her to death. Before he could dispose of it, he noticed her reach for one of the tall candelabras lining the hallway.

When the creature sought to bring its heavy bone club down upon her, she positioned the candelabra horizontally. The monster's weapon clashed against her makeshift staff with a loud metal clang. After narrowly avoiding its assault, she stepped back and swung the candelabra at it. Although she had difficulty lifting it, she hit the skeleton's ribcage and shattered several of its bones. Unwilling to give the monster a chance to retaliate, she threw all of her strength behind her second blow. A loud scream fled her lips as the candelabra collided against the creature's arm; sending it skittering across the floor behind it.

Overcome by rage, she swung her makeshift weapon again and cracked the monster on the side of the head. Like a tree branch snapped by the wind, its skull sailed from its neck and rolled by her feet. While the creature was defeated and "dead" once more, she continued swinging the candelabra until only small bits of debris accounted for its existence. Then, turning to the skull lying by her feet, she slammed the candelabra's heavy base against it; crushing it like a piece of fruit. Panting and exhausted, she collapsed to the floor and drew her legs close to her chest. The skirt of her dress fanned around her; its grey hue temporarily adopting the stained-glass windows' colors. The beautiful kaleidoscope bathed the woman in its soft, sad light. She buried her face in her knees; her grief and pain lost within the encompassing silence. Her golden hair splayed down her back and over the floor like sheets of silk.

His dark spheres reflected her ethereal image. The woman's fiery determination prompted his lips to form a tiny smile. Her lack of skill could have resulted in her end. Of course, he would have intervened beforehand – but he much preferred to be a spectator, rather than a savior. He brought a gloved hand to his chin; contemplating what he had just witnessed. Skeletons were by no means difficult for humans to defeat. However, if she ran off again, it was highly likely she would encounter something far more dangerous.

Deciding he would reexamine the matter later, he slowly approached her. His deep, calm voice shattered the silence. "That was…unexpected." When she did not move, he added softly. "You can sit there all evening if you wish, though I would prefer it if you accompanied me. Perhaps tis' time I entertained _you_, Lady Rohesia."

She lifted her head and looked up at him, her grey-blue eyes widening in surprise. "What sort of entertainment do you mean? I hope it is not the kind that involves someone dying."

He laughed, his eyes glinting with renewed amusement whilst he extended his hand. "No promises." His lips formed a playful smirk. "Come, milady. I won't bite…yet."

After assisting her to her feet, he held onto her hand a moment longer. When her eyes met his, he waved for her to follow. "Do you enjoy music, Lady Rohesia? Though the incident at Lord Trantoul's party was regrettable, you seem to have an ear for it."

"Yes, I do – but only when I am not _told_ to play."

Catching her cheek, he chuckled and ushered her back into the nearby chapel. He swept a bow before her, commanding the doors to open with his thoughts. Her eyes widened until he said reassuringly. "Ah, do not be afraid – I sometimes forget my powers. I thought I might play something for you. Would that please you?"

"In different circumstances, I would enjoy music." she replied. "Given what has happened, gaiety does not seem appropriate."

His shoulders tensed whilst he straightened and towered over the woman. His voice darkened. "This is _not_ a request. Do not forget, you are in my domain."

Rather than walk ahead as he usually did, he remained beside her until they reached the altar – ensuring she had no choice but to accompany him. The red-haired lord ascended the step, his cloak billowing behind him as he swept toward the pipe organ at the back. After giving the dusty bench a dismayed look, he cleared the debris off it with his hand, flicked back his cloak, and sat down. It had been a long time since he last played, and he was uncertain if the instrument still functioned. The cathedral wing had several other pipe organs, but he did not want to ruin the surprise by relocating her. Thus, he blew the dust off its numerous keys and decided it would have to suffice. The red-haired lord glanced over his shoulder and watched her sit down in one of the few unbroken pews closest to the altar.

"You didn't tell me you could play!" She remarked.

He smirked. Her wonderment at his human-like qualities never ceased to amuse him. "Time enables me to learn whatever I wish. When I was a child, I wanted to learn music. I obtained the services of a well-known instructor. If I made the slightest error, he would rap my hands with a riding crop. Though they were bruised beyond imagination, I soon learned that mistakes – no matter how small – are not without consequence."

"Your instructor hit you?" The thought of him suffering for perfections' sake took her by surprise. "What a dreadful person! People should be taught with kindness, not violence. All you did was make a mistake – we all do while learning."

Walter chuckled, his voice darkening whilst he replied. "Do not fret, milady. When I surpassed his skills and no longer required his services, I dismissed him."

The woman's eyes narrowed, and her voice fell quiet. "What do you mean by…dismissed?"

He turned his attention back to the instrument. As his gloved fingertips gently skimmed its yellowed keys, he answered vaguely. "Tis' unimportant." He stared at the tattered music sheets in front of him, studying the rising and falling notes and faded ink handwriting in the margins. "What is important though, is your enjoyment. Do you have any requests?"

"Requests?" She asked, tentatively repeating the word as if it implied something other than its obvious meaning.

Walter chuckled again and shook his head. When his crimson hair fell in front of his right eye, he brushed the annoying strands aside whilst continuing. "I do not mean _last requests_, for I am not inclined to ask such things before killing someone."

"My apologies, I did not mean to-"

"I am far from offended, Lady Rohesia." He smiled slightly – content with the fact she could not see it because his back was to her. "If my musical talents could kill, the world would be in a rather dire state."

The lady laughed, regaining her former excitement. "Why not play _Holy, Lord God Almighty_?"

"What?" He turned around to face her. His lips curled into a scowl until the sound of her laughter won his pardon.

"Only teasing, milord." She quipped, her eyes brightening when he waved his index finger at her before returning his attention to the instrument. "Surprise me then. I wish I had learned to play the organ, for it is a far grander instrument than the lute."

"Grandeur is meaningless without skill." He replied. "I have seen many a proud warrior come to my castle. Such men boasted of their accomplishments and wore fine armor. They usually suffered a terrible fate almost immediately. Alas, they had the look of a warrior but not the skill. After witnessing your little skirmish in the hallway, I wager even you could have bested them." When he heard her chuckle, he proudly flicked his cloak back and announced. "I will play for you a song of my own composition. You are the first and only human to hear it. I considered something somber but as you are quite prone to that emotion, I think something a bit more…exciting is best."

"Splendid!" She exclaimed, her excitement rising as he stretched his hands and positioned them over the keys. "What is it called?"

"_Dark Night Toccata_."

At first, he held each note. He drew from their deep sound a power capable of making the chapel tremble. As he played, he pictured himself standing grandly in the throne room; at last meeting the one worthy enough to challenge him. His fingers danced across the keys, filling the air with its bold, commanding chords. The red-haired lord perfectly timed and executed each note – as he had been taught to do so very long ago. The notes rose and fell, gaining momentum and earnestness each passing moment. Barely aware of it, he found himself putting every ounce of his will into his creation because it was _his_. The toccata represented the tremendous authority he wielded at his command. He rebuked humankind and God with his virtuosic control over the night. Upon reaching its finale, he held the notes dramatically, wanting her to hear his soul before its conclusion.

The moment it ended, he lifted his hands away from the keys and smiled to himself. Coils of lush red hair tumbled around his face as he lowered his head and absorbed the silence. Suddenly, solitary clapping broke his meditation. Walter turned around, noticing she had risen from the pew in ovation.

"What do you think?" He asked, his voice softening at the sight of her smiling expression.

The lady's smile broadened. "It is very…_you_, Lord Bernhard – and that is why you play it so well."

"I am pleased to hear that." Something occurred to him that piqued his interest. He brought a gloved hand to his chin, considering it a moment, before beckoning her to approach. "Come, milady. Perhaps we can play together."

"But – I do not know how!" Despite her hesitation, she made a tentative step toward him, her eagerness prevailing over her unease. "Are you certain? I do not wish to trouble you."

With a slow, knowing smile, he rose from the bench and ushered for her to take his seat. The graceful gesture encouraged her approach, for she quickly ascended the altar step and sat down upon the bench – momentarily overwhelmed by the organ's complexity. She placed her delicate hands upon the keys, her unease inhibiting her from pressing them. Walter stood behind the bench and leaned around her, his massive form casting a dark shadow across her. He gently laid his hands over hers and guided them into position. In an attempt to avoid intimidating her too much, he slowly bent forward and lowered his face beside hers.

When he spoke, his softness eased her trepidation. "Let us play a little tune – how about that one I heard you hum to yourself?"

The lady's face reddened as her eyes cast themselves to the floor. "You heard that? It's just a silly thing I made up when I was a child. It isn't nearly as grand as your toccata, milord."

"It does not need to be." He replied, chuckling at her modesty. "I will guide your hands. You shall know what it feels like to have this instrument at your command."

She lifted her head and looked up at him, her lips parting at the sight of his face so close to hers. With a renewed smile, she asked. "Do you not find it somewhat ironic that both villains and the church adore the same instrument?"

"Are you calling me a villain?" He asked, trying not to let her see his amusement. "I suppose you are referring to plays where the organ is used to announce the antagonist?"

Once again, her face reddened. "No! I do not mean to say that!"

"Are you certain?" He asked, his voice darkening at the mere suggestion. "My game nearly killed Lord Armster. You have seen what I am capable of, so perhaps that title is fitting. To man, my kind are nothing more than villains lurking in the shadows. Perhaps I should get an organ for my throne room. The last thing their eyes shall behold is the sight of me madly playing its keys! At least their grim surprise would amuse me."

"I…do not think you are completely a villain, Lord Bernhard." She whispered. "Though Lord Armster nearly met his end, you helped save his life. Why did you choose differently?"

The red-haired lord paused a long moment, unsurprised by her curiosity. "I wanted you to live…far more than I wanted him to die." He carefully ensured his voice gave no indication that his answer held any greater significance. "I enjoy our game, Lady Rohesia. I am not prepared for it to end…yet."

"I see." Her lips formed a slight frown as she attempted to keep her eyes on the keys, rather than his smirking expression. "Alas, I have only heard others tell me about plays, for I have never seen one. I wish I could know what it is like to see actors perform. Lord Armster believes such things are unworthy of attention. I will never agree with his indifference toward the arts. Without art, what is life?"

"Tis' a shame." He gave her a somewhat sympathetic look. Then, daring to broach the subject, he asked plainly. "You chose to save him, no matter the cost to yourself…and others."

A long silence passed. He felt her hands tense as she lowered her head, her voice quieting. "Lord Armster believes I will love him one day. I am uncertain if that is true."

He wanted to understand and put her together like pieces in a puzzle. He disliked mystery, unless it was he who kept the secrets. It was not every day a nobleman destroyed over two hundred undead to obtain that which they desired most. Yet, something about Lord Armster's devotion troubled the red-haired lord. Walter detected the man's pain when he watched him trudge down the streets of Wiedenheim. As skilled a warrior as he was, his attacks were so well-choreographed they seemed representative of a war far deeper than words.

Walter pressed her fingers down on the keys. As if awakened from a long slumber, the organ responded to their prompt with sound. The song was simple enough that he could play it by ear. He guided her hands patiently across the keyboard, pressing her fingers down so that the instrument rewarded them with song. It was a much slower version than the one she hummed, for he wanted her to hear the notes and connect the sounds with the keys. Whilst gently moving her hands, she hummed the tune softly under her breath. The woman's voice was barely audible over the instrument's impressive notes.

As they played, she whispered thoughtfully. "This tune is rather melancholy, isn't it? Perhaps I have always felt this way."

"I do not think you have always been melancholy." The calmness in his voice seemed to reassure her. Upon hearing his reply, she looked over her shoulder as he added. "You do not seem so now…"

A gentle smile crossed her lips. When his penetrating gaze did not leave her, she looked away. "No, I am not…even though I should be."

"And why is that?" He asked, testing her patience as she tried to concentrate on the keys.

She forced herself to look at him again. His smiling expression made her voice fall quiet. "You are trying to manipulate me like this instrument." The bitterness in her voice gave him pause. Without a word, he lifted his hands away and stepped back, his lips curling as she shook her head. "I have with great effort attempted to push what has happened out of my mind. I want to enjoy your presence, Lord Bernhard, but music will not help me forget the dead at Wiedenheim."

With a chuckle, the red-haired lord flicked his cloak. Her incessantness never ceased to amuse – and disappoint him. "Well, you are no fun." He quipped, ignoring her displeasure. "Comparing yourself to an instrument is a bit…dramatic, milady. If music will not make you forget, what will?" He gave her an exasperated look, fully prepared to hear a lecture about the importance of human life, if need be. He would have rather continued playing but her seriousness indicated otherwise.

His brow furrowed whilst his lips drew back in displeasure. "I see. You want me to stop my games." When she continued to look at him somberly, he released a low, exasperated huff. "I am afraid I cannot."

"Cannot or will not? You already have a game – with me. You need not pursue the lives of others. Not until our game has concluded."

"Oh, but I must." He smiled – deliberately revealing the tips of his fangs. A red tint appeared in his eyes. "I enjoy it, very much."

"Do you enjoy watching me suffer?" She slowly rose from the bench and stood before him, her eyes shining in the candlelight. "Did you enjoy watching the people of Wiedenheim suffer?"

"That is different, milady." He replied coolly, turning away from her. "Our game is unlike theirs."

"How?" Unwilling to let him evade her so easily, she walked in front of him. "I am human, just like they are. My life should not matter more."

"I did not say that it does." His dark eyes followed her like a bird of prey when she stepped closer to him. "There are elements at play that you do not comprehend."

"Prithee, milord, enlighten me?" Sarcasm melted off her words.

"The people of Wiedenheim were not long for this world anyway," He replied, flicking his hand at her dismissively. "The well that provided their drinking water was contaminated. More likely than not, they would have died anyway by year end."

She paused, thinking on his words – and doubting their truthfulness. "I suppose that for someone such as you, the time humans have left on Earth is worth much less than yours."

The woman's heartbeat quickened. With great effort, he tried to ignore it even though it tempted his hunger. A mere woman would not break his self-control so easily.

With a confident smirk, the red-haired lord stared at her. "Who are you to challenge me?"

"If I never challenged you, I would be rather boring, wouldn't I?" A mocking smile crossed her lips.

He had expected her to lash out and tell him what a horrible monster he was. She had placed herself at incredible risk to test him like that, for she knew he could have lost his temper.

Walter chuckled; his interest growing as she stood demurely before him, her clear blue eyes contrasting his dark, obscure ones. "I suppose, that is true." He replied. "Tread lightly though, for I am not always so forgiving."

"Nor are you always so cruel." She whispered. Then, taking his hand in hers, she looked up at him gently. "Will you consider my request?"

A long silence passed. He had rarely thought of his games since their meeting. Even when he did not see her for almost two months, he merely hunted to feed his hunger only.

When at last he gave his reply, his voice softened somewhat.

"Perhaps."

* * *

As he walked along the field just past the forest's border, he sighted a small shack with a vegetable garden. Upon closer inspection, the building had long since been abandoned and left to rot. Part of the veranda and roof had collapsed, and the garden located in the rear half of the property was left to flourish unabated. Despite the forest's unnatural darkness, vegetables still grew in the garden – the moonlight providing as much sustenance as the sun. Such things were not unusual to him, as he had a garden of his own teeming with organic life.

Though his castle contained many ornaments and elaborate suits of armor, he suspected such things would likely fail to impress a lady of repute and wealth. He needed something far _simpler_, for simplicity opposed indulgence. Thus, when he sighted pumpkins growing wild in the garden, their bright orange color and modest round shapes captured his interest. After looking them over, noting the different shapes and sizes presented for his choosing, he plucked the most symmetrical one from the patch and tucked it under his arm.

When nothing else in the garden interested him, the red-haired lord turned his attention to the abandoned cottage. Beside the building's broken back door was a pile of old potato sacks. Some of the sacks were full of rotting vegetables and had toppled over, spilling their blackened contents across the ground. He kneeled, sifted through the pile, and found only two in decent condition. He took them anyway, for his project was finally starting to take shape.

After finding what he needed, he admitted himself through the cottage's broken back door and entered a storage room. A blanket of dust covered the entire room. He sniffed, his nose wrinkling in discomfort as he walked through the derelict space. The interior was mainly empty, likely due to scavengers or its former occupants taking its items in haste. His boots thumped softly across the cottage's worn floorboards as he rummaged through what little objects remained – old shelves stacked with tattered books, shattered pots, moth-eaten blankets, and broken chairs.

On a lone shelf near the back, he found an old brown whip. He picked the object up and noted its fine craftsmanship. It was made of braided leather - likely used for livestock before its former owner left it behind. With a huff, he threw the object into one of the potato sacks. He did not know what he would do with it, but it intrigued him nonetheless, as if it had been hidden for him to discover.

After a few more minutes searching, he came across a small round table covered with clothes in the corner of the room. The garments were stacked neatly in piles. Beside them were several spools of thread and sewing needles - one of the cottage's former occupants spent a great deal of time crafting. He picked up the spools and needles and tossed them into the sack.

As he returned to the door, he kicked something on the floor. His eyes diverted to the offending object in his way, prepared to crush it, but he stopped when he saw was merely a small round treat wrapped in colorful red and white striped paper. He picked up the unusual object and examined it. He did not know for certain, but it appeared to be a taffy sweet. Vaguely, he recalled seeing similar food items on display in the windows of human shops. Its colorful wrapping beckoned his consideration. He tossed it into the bag with the other items. As he did, he noticed several children's toys scattered across the floor by the door - small stuffed dolls made of potato sacks with black button eyes and crudely hand-carved wooden horses. The objects gave him pause.

Vague memories filtered into his mind of a dark-haired child playing on the floor until a clawed hand grasped him by the nape and wrenched him back. The child struggled until his body went limp. His little fist unclenched and released the colorfully wrapped candy it once protected. The object hit the blood-soaked floor with a delicate tap and rolled away. From somewhere nearby, a woman's footsteps sounded, followed by horrified screams. Within seconds, her screams fell silent.

He gazed at the floor and drew his head back, his eyes widening at the sight of dark, crimson blood spattered across the walls and floor. A low growl escaped his throat as he kicked the toys across the room, their rattling sounds breaking his preoccupation. He scanned the walls and floor of the small space but saw no blood or corpses. His lips curled as he stood in the abandoned space with only his shadow for company. Had the room been covered in blood, he would have smelled it instantly.

With a heavy sigh, he balled his hand into a fist to stop it from trembling. He _commanded_ death. Yet, he could not ignore the fact that there were times his bloodlust took hold of him. He often fancied himself to be above the carnal urges his kind frequently succumbed to. He did not need to prowl the dark searching for the first human to come his way, as he chose his victims of his own accord, like fine wine. He wondered if his latest game was having the opposite effect he intended. Such emotions had rarely, if ever, occurred to him. Confidence quickly overshadowed his doubt when he remembered that, despite each game's uniqueness, they always had the same outcome. But why, then, did he bother trying to preserve her ephemeral life?

When the answer did not come as easily as he expected, he gritted his teeth, flung the broken door aside and vanished into the darkness of the night.

* * *

Walter returned to the throne room and set the pumpkin down in the middle of the empty floor. After dumping the rest of the items around it, he picked up the needle, twine, and empty burlap sacks. He ripped pieces of the sack apart and threaded the needle through the heavy fabric. After a few minutes, his vision began to take shape – stumpy arms and legs attached to a hollow cylindrical body. Although the stitching connecting the crudely made appendages was visible, he paid it no mind, as function was more important than design. Upon finishing his work, he threw the burlap pattern on the floor beside the pumpkin. He stared at the eclectic assortment for a moment, uncertain how the trivial objects could ever prove useful. Briefly, he wondered if he should have acquired a human-made composition doll instead. A doll would have looked more appealing than the ragged mess scattered before him. However, something so ordinary and impersonal would not meet his need to impress.

His gloved fingers lightly tapped the small black stone adorned on his chest. He focused his thoughts upon the dark specter lurking beyond the realm of the living. The shadowy being slowly manifested in response to its master's summon. Cloaking blackness enclosed around him until an icy wind caused it to lift and hover in the air. A skeletal form emerged from within the misty shadow, its hollow black eye-sockets locked upon the red-haired lord standing before it. Walter's imposing form seemed small and insignificant in its presence. The enormous tattered red cape billowing behind it enhanced its formidable appearance. The specter's decaying humanoid body was only visible from the torso up, as its lower half was cloaked by an indiscernible black shroud. Covering its head was an elaborate blackish-blue hood decorated with a human skull pattern. Most notably of all, clutched in the phantom's right hand was the hilt of a massive scythe. The scythe's foreboding curved blade gleamed in the candlelight. Had the phantom wanted to, it could have cut him in half with one swipe. Instead, the specter bowed its skulled head and opened its mouth.

Its loud and exacting voice reverberated off the room's domed ceiling. "What is your desire, master?" The phantom's exposed yellowed teeth clicked as it spoke.

The absoluteness of Walter's power over death eliminated his fear of it. To him, death guaranteed his supremacy over the mortal world. The specter was merely a powerful tool he obtained at great effort and expense. He relished the hint of frustration he detected in the entity's voice when it could not exact its desire to claim him.

"I am in need of a soul." His lips formed a mocking smirk.

"For what purpose?" The creature's dead, expressionless face stared back at him.

The red-haired lord ushered to the contents scattered on the floor. "You answer to _me_," he sneered. "Its purpose is my own. However, since I require your power as well…I wish you to infuse a soul with these objects."

The specter tilted its head. Though it possessed no eyes – at least, not in a traditional sense – its disdainful silence had not gone unnoticed. "What?" Its voice bordered irritation. "You ask me to infuse one of my precious souls with rubbish?"

"I do not recall _asking_." Walter hissed, his lips parting to reveal the tips of his needle-like fangs.

"What kind of soul do you require?" The red-haired lord's firm tone somewhat tempered its contempt. "A powerful demon? Perhaps, the soul of Legion or Belial?"

Walter thought a moment on it. A low, cold laugh escaped his throat before he corrected. "No. Though I would find seeing hell's most powerful demon confined to a pumpkin and vegetable sack greatly entertaining, I am in need of an innocent soul."

"There are no innocents in hell." The specter protested.

His smirk broadened. "Oh, I am certain you will find something. It needn't necessarily be from hell. Go to heaven, if you must – it makes little difference to me so long as you find it."

To his surprise, the specter quickly replied. "It is done."

The red-haired lord raised an eyebrow but said nothing, for he cared not about death's intricacies.

The phantom floated closer to the objects and lifted its hand. A white light burst from its fingertips and surrounded the pieces scattered insignificantly before its spectral form. As the pieces merged and came to life, the red-haired lord's eyes glinted.

It was _perfect_.

* * *

With hawkish enthusiasm, he watched her dismount her horse and walk across the castle's lowered drawbridge. As her grey form passed the threshold of its grand front entryway, her attention focused upon his imposing form standing proudly atop the entryway balcony. Walter's dark, cryptic gaze locked upon her when she paused, giving him a short curtsy whilst she spoke.

"Good evening, Lord Bernhard. I did not expect you would be waiting for me?"

He returned her observation with a low, mocking chuckle – his lips forming a smirk as he stared down at the creature before him, dismissing her with a wave of his gloved hand. "Is it not polite for a host to greet his guest?" Never one for delay, he lifted his cloak, sweeping it toward the tower entrance behind him. "I have a gift for the lady, if she wishes to accompany me."

"What kind of gift?" She asked, her voice filling with trepidation. Then, catching herself, she bowed her head, curtaining her growing unease behind the long, silky locks of her golden hair. Sarcasm filled her voice as she stared up at his smirking expression. "How could I refuse? As you have so clearly informed me, this is _your_ domain."

Walter's brow furrowed. After drawing a breath, he shook his head. "Indeed, it is." He answered – choosing his words carefully to ensure she would not misinterpret his intent. "Though I would prefer it if you accompanied me…by your will, this time."

After a brief pause, she nodded and ascended the balcony steps. Her long, grey skirt swept behind her as she went. Her unhurried steps echoed through the deserted entryway. "Again, I must ask…" She began. "This does not involve someone dying, does it?"

Walter laughed, his voice echoing through the vaulted space whilst he ushered for her to follow. "Quite the opposite. I have not shown you my throne room, yet. I suppose this is as worthy an occasion as any for you to see it, at last."

"I did not expect you would have a throne room." She remarked. Then, catching his smirk, she shook her head and chuckled. "I should have expected no less…"

He led her through the castle, his swift steps commanding her to follow without delay. As always, she took her time trailing after him – stopping occasionally to admire a painting or to look at the strange, ghostly skeletons that frequently appeared and vanished like mirages. Misty, almost illusionary phantoms apparated within one of his tower's great ballrooms. He permitted her these small delays, just so he could observe her excitement. He enjoyed such moments, for they enabled him to see his world through _her_ perspective.

After a time, he led her outside where his tower staircase awaited them. They were now close to his castle's highest point. A round domed structure was situated at the top of a long, straight staircase. As if to remind them of its presence, the crimson moon loomed in the dark night sky. Without a second thought, he glided up the staircase, his cape and hair flying in the wind as he went. He knew without a doubt curiosity would lure her after him. Nevertheless, he could not resist looking at her over his shoulder – his dark eyes tracing her calm yet inquisitive expression as she lifted the skirt of her dress and ascended the steps.

The howling wind tossed her dress' heavy fabric back. The invisible force whipped her hair wildly around her face, while the moon cast an ominous red sheen across the structure's stone exterior. In the abnormal light, the red carpet covering the middle of the staircase had an uncanny resemblance to a river of blood spilling down a stone façade. As he led the way, his confident steps overshadowed her cautious ones. Upon reaching the top, he flung the throne room's heavy stone door open and stepped aside.

He extended his arm and ushered for her to enter. "After you."

She bowed her head in acknowledgement, her pale eyes shining with growing interest. Upon entering, her footsteps lightly echoed across the room's tiled floor and stately walls. She wandered to center of the floor and gazed up at the windows lining its vaulted ceiling. Arched recesses along the walls contained large, gated windows decorated with red velvet curtains tied back by gold rope. Consigned to darkness, the room's elaborate architecture disappeared within the shadows. Tall, gold candelabras illuminated traces of its obscured beauty.

While the lady surveyed her surroundings, the red-haired lord swept toward his throne. Five stone steps led to the throne at the furthest part of the room. A luxurious red carpet lined with a gold border covered the middle of the steps. After ascending to the throne's elevated platform, he turned and gazed down at her grey form. He lifted his head, his dark eyes glinting with delight at her awed expression.

With a wry smile, he raised his gloved hand and beckoned her forth. "Come, milady. Would you like to see the gift I have prepared?"

"Yes, milord." Returning his smile, she approached and stopped at the carpet covering the base of the steps. "This place is magnificent," she remarked.

"Of course, it is." he chuckled. "The grandeur you see reflects _me_. I expect no less from those who look upon it."

A slight frown overcame her smile. "Perhaps…but though this tower's exterior is grand, the room within it feels rather…empty, milord."

"Is that so?" Walter paused, knowing the space was completely bereft of furniture except the throne and a lone painting on the wall behind it. He enjoyed the unspoken authority he conveyed when he sat upon his throne; forcing any who dare approach to stand below in acquiescence of his power. "Forgive the lack of décor." He continued, his voice filling with feigned regret. Unwilling to acknowledge her veiled insult, he added. "I have not had a visitor here in quite some time. Most of my guests die before they reach my chamber."

"Most?" She asked – not hiding her disbelief.

Walter grinned. "_All_, to be precise."

Lady Rohesia's gaze strayed to the massive portrait hanging on the wall behind the throne; its ominous presence drawing her attention. "Who is the woman in that painting?"

With an annoyed huff, Walter looked over his shoulder. The tall painting, decorated with an antique gold frame, spanned almost the entire height of the room. It portrayed a woman with long curly blonde hair. The woman's blank white eyes stared back at them menacingly. A thick white fur shawl adorned her shoulders. As her head was tilted slightly downward, the angle allowed the artist to create unsettlingly realistic shadows across her ashen visage.

In no mood for her to pry into his affairs, he answered decisively. "It matters not."

"Why do you have a throne, Lord Bernhard?" She asked, giving him an apathetic look. "You do not have any subjects."

"Ah, but that is untrue. _I am beloved by the night_." The red-haired lord shook his finger at her; his confidence revealing his inclination to remind her of that fact. "My subjects are the creatures dwelling within this castle. Unfortunately, some of them are…prone to disobedience."

"Surely, one as powerful as you would have no trouble punishing them?" She frowned.

"Certainly not." He replied, ensuring his tone gave no indication her remark bothered him in the slightest. "Though I cannot say the same for you, milady. I enjoy the challenge of keeping you…_alive_." He paused a moment; his smirk broadening. "At least, for now. Tis' more difficult to preserve life than to end it, as I am sure you are aware."

"Indeed, I am." She curtly acknowledged.

After drawing a heavy breath, he gazed at her lovely, solemn countenance. He chose his words carefully, uncertain how to avoid her scrutiny. Despite his effort, his voice softened when her eyes met his. "I have decided to present you with a small token of my…esteem."

"What have I done to deserve this honor?" She bowed her head – her lips revealing a modest smile.

"Why, nothing at all – except live long enough to receive it. I suppose, for a human, that is an accomplishment." With a mocking smirk, he flicked his cloak and tapped the Ebony Stone.

His motion prompted her to lift her head and stare up at him. Her visible disappointment dissolved his satisfaction. Unwilling to acknowledge it, and obsessed with spectacle, he lifted his arm. His deep, calm voice resonated through the room.

"Behold, your gift." He snapped his fingers.

When she continued staring at him, he scanned the platform and the empty room before him. Unwilling to reveal the delay's unexpectedness, he brought a hand to chin – his dark eyes flickering. Though he sensed its presence, it did not reveal itself.

"Is this another game of yours?" Her lips formed a teasing, though somewhat wary, grin.

Walter returned her remark with a polite smile. "I am not in the mood for games. It is here. When I find it, I will-"

The woman's eyes widened. With an excited cry, she lifted her hand and pointed, her urgency the overcoming her initial skepticism. "Something is hiding there!"

Walter whirled in place, sighting the creature's hollow eyes peering at them from behind the throne's tall back. Though it tried to conceal itself, its orange head was nearly impossible to miss. As soon as it noticed their attention, it jumped in surprise and disappeared behind the chair. The creature's toy-like squeaks made her chuckle.

A low snarl escaped the red-haired lord's throat as he stepped toward it, eager to wrench the thing from its hiding place like a dog digging out a rat.

"Please leave it be, Lord Bernhard." She slowly ascended the stairs, her voice quieting as she looked in the creature's direction. Then, speaking to it, she crouched upon the floor – her long, grey dress fanning around her as she whispered. "It is alright, little one. I will not harm you."

"What are you doing?" His lips formed an amused smirk. Her desire to win the creature's favor entertained him, despite its ridiculousness. Even though he should have expected as much, he insisted scornfully. "It is yours to command. If you wish it to show itself, simply tell it to do so. _You_ are its master."

The woman continued to gaze in the direction of the throne, her voice maintaining its gentle assurance. "Do not be afraid."

After a few moments, the creature peered at her from around the throne. When it took a tiny step forward, its foot squeaked in audible protest. Still not fully abandoning its hiding place, its hollow eyes stared back in growing interest – or what _may_ have been so, given its limited facial expression. The imp's crescent shaped mouth, tilted upward into a perpetual grin, gave it a mischievous air.

Undaunted by the creature's hesitation, her soft voice attempted to reassure it. "My name is Arabella. Do you have a name?" The creature slowly shook its head, its reaction indicative of an understanding of human speech – though to what extent remained to be seen. Encouraged by its response, she crept closer still. "Hm, that will not do." Then, as if considering it a moment, she continued. "Would you like me to give you one?" The imp nodded quickly - seemingly excited by her suggestion. It took another step forward; its squeaking step breaking the silence. The woman's smile broadened. "Very well. I shall call you…" Surveying its unusual features, she paused a moment. "_Pumpkin_. I think it suits you perfectly."

The red-haired lord shook his head. To him, the creature was merely an eclectic composition of inanimate objects. To her, it was a living, breathing being – albeit unusual – with a _name_ and a _soul_. He did not equate a soul with _consciousness_, for he used and disposed of them as he pleased. Nevertheless, he smiled despite himself. He half-expected her to recoil at the creature's somewhat unnerving appearance. Instead, she beckoned its company.

At last, the familiar took another squeaking step away from the throne, jumping - as if in excitement - when she spoke its name. "Pumpkin!" She exclaimed – her voice drawing it closer. When at last the creature fully emerged from behind the throne, she gasped at the sight of its odd, round hands – or what appeared to be hands, despite their lack of resemblance to human ones. "Your hands…is that a frog head and a piece of…candy?" She chuckled. "Do you like candy, Pumpkin? I think I might have something for you. I was going to give it to Justine but…Lord Bernhard has given her enough coin to purchase more than enough for some time." Reaching into the pocket of her dress, she pulled out a small treat wrapped in gold and red paper. The moment she revealed it, the creature jumped and sprinted toward her – snatching the treat between its odd appendages like it was second nature. Its loud squeaking steps reverberated through the room as it scuttled back to its hiding place.

Torn between amusement and annoyance, Walter stared after it. He would play along with her little game – for now. As her grey-blue eyes watched the throne for its re-appearance, he warned the imp sinisterly. "You should thank the lady. If you do not, I shall take you apart piece by piece the same way I created you-"

Lady Rohesia's eyes darted to him. As she rose to her feet, she bowed her head – her cheeks reddening. "Lord Bernhard, thank you for this gift. I love it even more now, knowing you thought of me."

"Tis' nothing." Walter turned away, avoiding her gaze. "This pile of trash is more than worthy of you."

"I do not care what _you_ call Pumpkin. But I am grateful."

Upon hearing its name, the creature peeked out from around the throne once again. Its hollow eyes looked up at her. After a moment, it leapt out of its hiding place and hurried toward them – its boisterous squeaking steps capturing her immediate attention. When it came before her, it spun around and bowed. The imp was much smaller in stature than she. Without hesitation, she lowered herself to her knees and flung her arms around it – pulling it into her embrace.

The sorrow in her eyes receded. "It has been quite some time since I had a friend. Everyone I know is far away – except you, and now, Pumpkin."

Though he considered reminding her of Lord Armster, he smirked at her implicit refusal to mention the man's name. "_Pumpkin_, as you call it, exists solely to guard you from the dangers within my domain. It is not a friend; it is merely a tool. Do not forget."

The lady shook her head, dismissing him with her insistence. "I choose to consider it a friend and will treat it as one. I do not want to be its master." With a sigh, she straightened once more. Then, while looking down at the imp, she smiled. "Pumpkin, would you like to explore the garden with me? Or, I could read to you? There are so many things we can do!"

"I have not dismissed you, yet." The red-haired lord's smirk vanished. He would not be second fiddle to an _imp_. He tossed his head, curtaining his displeasure behind the thick coils of his scarlet hair. "You are in my domain and-"

"You are welcome to join us, Lord Bernhard. I would appreciate your company…very much."

After a long pause, his lips formed a smirk. "I must ensure the creature will fulfill its purpose. Regretfully, it has not been tested, yet."

He considered taking her to the garden and throwing her and the imp among his creatures, just to see if the familiar could defeat them but thought better of it. After the events of Wiedenheim, he had no desire to purposely endanger her life again. The woman's fearless obstinacy did not amuse him as greatly as he originally anticipated. Her company was satisfactory enough.

"Pumpkin is not a thing for you to test, Lord Bernhard." She glared, her exasperation returning. Then, catching herself, added quietly. "I do not wish it any harm. Let us simply enjoy the evening together."

"Very well." Then, considering her a moment, his lips formed a shrewd grin. Always one to impress, a solution came to mind that promised to entertain them _both_. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"Of course not!" She replied, her voice feigning confidence despite her uncertainty. To seem more convincing, she flicked her golden hair in dismissal. "Why would I be afraid? I have experienced far worse things no thanks to _you_."

Catching her cheek, he emitted a low, resounding laugh. "Ah, I suppose that is true." He remarked, his good-natured response eliciting her smile. "Would you like to star gaze, perhaps? The roof of my tower provides an excellent view of the sky."

"The _roof_?" Her brow furrowed. "Is it not dangerous? How can we get up there? I do not recall seeing any stairs-"

"I thought you were unafraid?" He teased; eager to test her resolve. "If you are too ladylike for such things, I am certain we can find something else-"

"Of course not!" She retorted playfully, fully prepared to meet his challenge. "Pumpkin and I will go…if you can explain how we shall get up there?"

"Tis' simple." Without waiting for her, he descended the steps and swept across the room's empty floor toward the door.

He did not need to look over his shoulder to ensure she was following, for the familiar's squeaking steps were impossible to ignore. In most circumstances, he would have translocated onto the roof. However, as he could not translocate while carrying another, there was only one solution. He flung the throne room's heavy stone door open and stepped into the darkness beyond. The wind whipped his cloak to the side; unfurling it like outstretched wings. When the woman and Pumpkin appeared behind him, he turned to face her, his dark eyes glinting in anticipation. She tilted her head upward and gaze at the domed roof in trepidation.

Never one for unnecessary delay, he glided toward her, his unwavering confidence drawing her attention. "There is only one way – _my_ way."

"What are you-"

Before she could finish her sentence, the red-haired lord lifted her into his arms – wrapping his right arm underneath her knees and his left around her back. Like a child not wanting to be left behind, the imp hopped onto her lap. In one swift motion, he leapt into the air, and hurtled his large form into the dark sky. Though unable to fly unless in bat or demon form, the Ebony Stone enabled him to reach impossible heights. He landed upon one of the circular tower's high window ledges, his feet perching upon the narrow stone sill like a bird of prey. He looked upward, sighting another ledge around the base of the tower's domed roof. Beside him, one of the structure's large arched windows reflected his image – as well as the woman's silent terror. Pumpkin's large round appendages clung tightly to her waist. Its round, orange head was titled upward as if to stare at her, rather than the ground far below. With a low chuckle, he leapt into the air once more, his cloak unfurling and billowing around his graceful form. After landing upon the ledge at the base of the dome, he catapulted himself into the air a final time – his burgundy form contrasting the night's abyss. Crimson moonlight illuminated his pallid face; revealing his smirking expression and dark, gleaming eyes. His thick scarlet hair, tossed by the wind, splayed recklessly across his defined cheekbones and broad, toned shoulders. The woman's long flaxen hair whipped around her face; their buttery soft strands tickling his cheek and back. The red moon illuminated her graceful features, allowing him a glimpse of her serene, crystalline eyes.

With nary a sound, he landed at the very top of the structure's domed roof. The roof's rough stone facing provided secure enough footing that he set her down beside him. Pumpkin hopped off, its smaller form barely reaching the red-haired lord's calf. He towered over it, giving the imp a somewhat scornful look when it threw itself against the woman's skirt and clung to her. She gave the creature a gentle pat on the head; her gaze drifting from it to the dome's precariously curved surface. With a nervous smile, she reached up and grasped his arm.

Upon feeling her touch, he bent slightly and brought his face close to her ear. His quiet reassurance overcame the howling wind. "I did not let you fall then…and I will not, now."

She gazed up at his face, her grey-blue eyes shining in the moonlight as she replied. "…I know."

Her attention shifted to the thousands of stars spread out across the sky's obscure blackness. As she gazed at the night in wonderment, she hummed under her breath. The moment she filled the silence with song, Pumpkin tilted its spherical head up, as if in reference of her voice. The little creature hummed with her. Though somewhat off-tune, it mimicked her song perfectly. She lifted the familiar into her arms. "I had no idea you could sing, Pumpkin!"

"Regretfully, I did not know, either…" He muttered under his breath.

The woman returned her attention to the stars. While looking up at the thousands of twinkling lights, she whispered. "When I was a little girl, my mother told me stories about the constellations. My favorite was the story of Orion. Alas, I have no idea where that constellation is, for all the stars compete for my attention."

With a low huff, he stepped closer to her and pointed to the sky. "Tis' one of the easiest to see. Look for a row of three stars: Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka. Humans call them _Orion's belt_."

She leaned into him, attempting to follow his hand to the part of the sky in question. After a pause, her eyes widened. "Ah, do you mean those three? I think I see them, now! How did you-"

"I have studied the stars for centuries." He remarked, chuckling under his breath. "They have fascinated me since I was a child, for their power is forever out of reach."

She smiled at him sadly. Her grey-blue eyes reflected the moonlight. "Isn't that what makes them beautiful? Not all of God's creations can be controlled, Lord Bernhard."

The red-haired lord scoffed. "For now."

"You were a child, once…" She looked up at his ashen visage, silently studying his smooth, flawless cheeks and glossy crimson hair. "What did you think of the stars then?"

Walter's brow furrowed. He shifted under her gaze, his voice softening. "Like me, their influence is greatest at night. Perhaps, through them, I hoped to learn something about myself."

"Did you?"

"Like you, the stars refuse to yield their secrets." A tiny smirk appeared on his face.

"Oh, please, I am not that complicated – especially not for oneof _your_ skills." She returned his smirk.

A memory surfaced in his mind. He had barely blinked at life, despite being older than she when it occurred. He had been _freer_ then, even though he did not fully understand why. Not even the sun could temper his insatiable fascination with the world. Though his body naturally ceased aging when he turned thirty-five, his mind continued to mature, and with it, his knowledge. It startled him to realize that, like human men, he longed to return to a time when inexperience created endless opportunities.

"Long ago, when I was merely twenty-one, I was lost at sea…" His deep, resonant voice drifted through the wind. He looked up at Orion's belt, noting its unattainableness, whilst continuing. "On the return voyage, the vessel's captain succumbed to consumption. The ship's crew were young and foolish; they knew nothing of using the stars to navigate. I imagine they were hastily recruited before the journey. During the day, I stayed below deck. The men were content to believe my claims of heat stroke and sea sickness, for my paleness made them fearful of the disease that claimed their captain. I navigated the ship at night, instructing the wretches where to sail by way of the stars. As the journey took longer than anticipated, lack of blood threatened to cloud my mind. One by one, I killed and drank from the wretches. The idiots assumed their comrades had perished from disease, for none dared to get close enough to the bodies to examine them. Fearing the sickness would spread, the crew tossed the bodies overboard. T'was a convenient solution, as their gullibility ensured they could not discover my nature. By the time the ship reached port, only I and three crew members remained. I eventually hunted and killed them as well, for as the saying goes…_dead men tell no tales_."

The cheerfulness in her voice dissipated. "Why would you do that? Surely, if they did not know your truth, they were no threat to you?"

"Despite my youth, I had already learned that humans could not be trusted. Men of the sea love two things: drink and spinning tales."

"I know your nature…yet, you do not kill me?"

His smirk broadened. "Not _yet_. Were you to live as long as I, you would understand my reasons."

The woman shook her head. "Just because I am young and would have chosen differently, does not mean I cannot understand, Lord Bernhard. You did not want others more perceptive than they to discover your nature. Yet, you could not know for certain that they would have, had you let them live. Those men you killed may have had wives, children, or families who loved them-"

"Such things are irrelevant."

"Are they?" Her eyes narrowed. "I do not believe you."

"You must understand, were I to care about _every_ life I took, I would…"

All at once, his voice caught in his throat. Unable to withstand her probing gaze, he turned from her, his long black cloak sweeping around his great frame when he moved. Coils of rich, crimson hair flew around his face as the wind pushed against his backside. Briefly, his gaze returned to the stars.

"Who are _you_ to judge me?" He glared at her over his shoulder, his eyes tinting crimson.

Her humility subdued his anger. "Forgive me, Lord Bernhard." She bowed her head. "You risk yourself by allowing me to know your truth. People often harm others without realizing it. When I was twelve, I accidentally broke my mother's prized vase. The vase was a gift from the duchess of Devonshire and _very_ expensive. I was so afraid she would discover what I had done that I told one of my sisters I saw a servant break it. I asked my sister not to tell anyone, for I did not want to incur my mother's wrath. Alas, my sister did not keep her promise and told _everyone_! Before long, rumors of how it had broken reached my mother's ear. My mother believed one of her handmaidens broke it during the throes of lovemaking with the vassal…_in her bed_, no less. As it turned out, the handmaid and vassal were, in fact, cuckolding their spouses…but it had nothing to do with the vase. The truth only became known after the rumors started. My mother and father dismissed them immediately." A heavy sigh wracked her chest. "When I finally confessed to breaking it, my mother did not believe me. I suppose, the lovemaking rumor was a far more appealing truth, to her. Perhaps, if I had not told my sister…or better yet, if I had told my mother from the beginning, things would have ended differently…"

"Or, perhaps not." He mused. "Just as I could not know if those men would reveal my truth or not, you could not know if the affair would have been discovered. The vase was merely the catalyst of their ruin."

"I suppose." She sighed. "I do not mean to trivialize your story with my simple one. I have only been on a ship twice. The first, when I journeyed to the christening of Baron Belmont's son, and the second when I left my homeland to visit Lord Armster. Alas, I wish the crew on my ship had been the one from yours…for I would not have minded getting lost at sea, if it meant Lord Armster would think I was dead…" She chuckled.

Walter smirked.

A brief silence fell between them. She continued gazing up at him, searching his face for the answers his dark, penetrating eyes refused to yield. When he said nothing, she continued quietly. "You do not know how much your trust means to me. If anything happened to you…I…"

His eyes widened. He had not anticipated the woman to concern herself with _him_. Drawing a sharp breath, he waved her away with his hand. His voice filled with cold indifference. "Do not be…ridiculous." Upon turning slowly around, gentleness reflected within his gaze. He did not understand her power over him. Like the stars, he did not understand _her_. Though human, her wistful beauty drew him to her. Yet, the closer he seemed to get to her truth, the further away she seemed to be.

With an exasperated huff, he replied. "The stars do not care if you think they are beautiful, or if you wish to know them. They exist apart from humanity, just as I must."

"You do not live among the stars, Lord Bernhard." Despite her perceived calm, her voice trembled somewhat. "People have shared tales about them for centuries – take the constellations, for example."

"Legends are not the same as fact." He countered. "They merely reflect humanity's pathetic need to understand the universe and name everything in sight."

"That may be so, but I find them fascinating." She replied, ignoring his rebuff. "Though you can show me Orion's Belt, do you know the story behind it?"

He gave her an amused smile. Whereas he studied the stars to exploit their uses, she wanted to _understand_ them. Despite himself, he wanted to know more about Orion besides the names of its stars and their coordinates. He wanted to know _her_.

"Unfortunately, I do not." His eyes met hers. After pausing a moment, he added. "Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"If that is your wish." Her lips formed a gentle smile. Then, looking beyond him at the stars, she sought the constellation he had pointed out to her earlier. It took her a few moments to find it again. While Pumpkin softly hummed her little tune, she began. "The Greek moon goddess, Artemis, befriended a human hunter named Orion. The two shared stories and hunted together, despite their differences."

"Why would a goddess desire the company of a human?" He scowled.

"Why do you desire my company?" She laughed.

Uncertain how to respond, he answered enigmatically. "I see."

The lady returned her attention to the stars. "In some versions of the story, Artemis and Orion were friends. In others, they were lovers. I do not know which is true, but Artemis admired the mortal's caring heart and generous spirit. These virtues drew the jealousy of the god Apollo, who did not look upon their kindship favorably. Apollo sent a scorpion to destroy Orion and told Artemis to seek out an enemy who ravaged one of her followers. In her haste, Artemis took her bow and aimed at the speck on the horizon, who Apollo claimed was the enemy she sought. Upon discovering her arrow had felled Orion, she carried his remains into the sky in her silver chariot and enshrined him forever among the stars. She then killed the scorpion and cast it into the sky behind Orion as a reminder to those who are false to their lovers – and themselves."

When she finished speaking, his eyes strayed to the crimson moon illuminating the sky behind her. The massive sphere bathed her in its soft light. Though she was beautiful, he would not compare her beauty to Artemis. Unlike goddesses, her humanity – and the fragility he once chastised – won his admiration. Through their differences, they came to understand their similarities. Goddesses did not appeal to him as she did. She was tangible and…_human_.

When she asked if he thought on the lives he took, sorrow overwhelmed him. He _had_ thought of her – but not who she was. He would have claimed her beautiful, fragile life no differently than others he had before her. Now, the thought of taking her life filled him with dismay and regret. He had never felt such emotions for any other…why, then, did he feel for _her_? While looking at her fair face, emotion briefly rendered him silent.

It took all his effort to finally ask the only question his mind permitted. The crying wind nearly overcame his soft, deep voice. "Perhaps, you and I are…_somewhat_ like Orion and Artemis. Nevertheless, such fanciful tales offer nothing except entertainment. There are far greater things in this world than stories."

The lady bowed her head. Wisps of golden hair swept around her face as she replied. "Of course. Though, unlike Artemis and Orion, our story has not ended, Lord Bernhard…"

Walter chuckled under his breath, his lips lifting into a smirk. "Not yet. Should it though, it will take _far_ more than an arrow to kill me."

To this, she laughed.


	10. Machinations

**Chapter 10**

Several evenings came and went. In his boredom, his thoughts frequently wandered to Lady Rohesia. As she was human, he understood her need for reprieve. Unlike him, humans could not stay awake all day and night. As the stone cast his domain into eternal darkness, he had little need for sleep. Thus, after allowing a respectful amount of time to pass, the red-haired lord again sought her out.

As Walter mounted Enoch, loud squeaking steps disrupted the night. He looked ahead, sighting the woman's familiar standing in front of his horse. The imp's bulky, pumpkin-shaped head tilted upward. The creature's perpetually grinning expression made its intent nearly impossible to discern.

"Get out of my sight, little pile of trash!" While giving the horse a reassuring pat on its shoulder, Walter shook his head. Noticing his unanticipated and newly felt _affection_ for the beast, he withdrew a breath and scowled. "I shall not be seen with a lowly _imp_."

Seemingly unhindered by his threat, the creature twirled in place and danced, its squeaking steps making his lips twitch in irritation. He nudged Enoch with the heels of his boots, urging the equine to move forward. After taking several hesitant steps, the equine stopped within a few inches of the dancing creature.

"I am not taking _you_! Get out of the way, or I will tear you limb from limb-"

Suddenly, the little creature whipped him in the face. Though the Ebony Stone prevented him from incurring any injury, he instinctively drew away.

"You dare hit _me_!" He lifted his hand and summoned his power. "I shall teach you the meaning of _respect_!"

All it would take was a single, well-aimed blast to obliterate the thing instantly. Yet, as he glared at the little creature, he hesitated. Thinking on Lady Rohesia's affection for it, as well as the delight he felt when he bequeathed it to her, his hand slowly lowered. He stared into the imp's hollow, half-moon shaped eyes. Unmoving, the creature stared silently back.

"I will not call you by that ridiculous name. A _monster_ has no need of a name. You are fortunate she adores you."

The imp twirled in place and swept a short bow. Walter could not discern if its actions were acknowledging or mocking.

"Hurry up, then!"

The little creature ran around his horse and hopped onto the saddle behind him. Somewhat amused by its persistence, his lips crept into a tiny smile.

Then, he took off down the forest's winding path.

* * *

Upon arriving on the outskirts of the estate, Walter dismounted his horse. Accompanied closely by the imp, he stalked through the fields surrounding the manor before stopping by a small copse of trees.

After surveying the large stone building a moment, he turned to the little creature beside him. "Find Lady Rohesia and the child."

As if confused by his command, the imp refused to move.

"I do not care how you get there!" he hissed, his patience waning in the wake of its silent protest. "Find a way to Lady Rohesia's chamber. Her room is on the manor's west side. There is a matter I must investigate before I see to her. Ensure no one except the lady and child see you. Should you fail, I will-"

Before he could finish, the little creature scurried toward the manor, its squeaking steps muffled somewhat by the grass-covered ground. Within seconds, its orange pumpkin-head and burlap body disappeared into the night.

As it had been over a month since he saw the white-haired nobleman, he could not resist finding out what the man was up to. He suspected Lord Armster would not rest until he found and destroyed the 'devil' responsible for his lady's abduction. With a pleased smirk, he pictured the image of a bat in his mind.

He flew toward the manor, gliding past its many windows in search of its lord. As he knew not where Lord Armster's chamber was, he circled the building several times until he noticed the dull warm glow of lamplight from a room in the manor's east wing. Upon closer inspection, the man's unmistakably pale form was visible through the window. Even half-shadowed in lamplight, Lord Armster was difficult to miss. With a low squeak, Walter pricked his ears forward and landed upon a window ledge. Several massive arched windows lined the wall facing east; providing a nearly unobstructed view of the morning sun.

As it was somewhat late in the evening, Walter was unsurprised to find Lord Armster preparing for bed. Wearing only his breeches, the lord was sitting in bed, quill in hand. After writing for a few minutes, he stopped and chewed on the quill's feathered end. Though the red-haired lord did not know what the man was writing, his earnestness was evident.

He watched the pale nobleman neatly fold the parchment and slide it into an envelope. Whilst holding the envelope up, tenderness overcame his unease. He smiled to himself, his cold expression softening in the candlelight. Walter noticed the lady's name written on the front of the envelope in elegant cursive.

Suddenly, Lord Armster's smile faded.

He brought the envelope over the candle on his bedside table. Fire quickly devoured the bottom portion of the envelope. The lord's unread secrets transformed into ash. Then, he flicked the envelope in his hand sharply; extinguishing the flames before all its contents had burned away. While giving the half-destroyed paper a disgusted look, he tossed it across the room, covered his face with his hands, and shrank into himself like a wilted plant.

Layers of long, ivory white hair cascaded around his face. The pale lord grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled, nearly ripping them out like weeds. After a few minutes his grip loosened.

The man's barely audible plea filled the dimly lit chamber. "What have I done, God, to deserve your rebuke? I knock on her chamber door and receive only silence. I invite her to dinner, and she sits with me like a statue of an angel. I try to explain but she will not listen. You ask man not to hate, yet why is my heart full of it? You ask me not to be lustful, but why do my thoughts dwell only on _her_? I know you ask me to wait, but I yearn for her – _only_ her. I want to at last know her love…as well as her pleasures. Have I not suffered and repented enough?"

Walter glared at the pale lord. A part of him enjoyed observing the man's pathetic misery. Smirking to himself – or as well as he could, given his altered form – he was about to seek the lady out when a loud knock drew his attention. The red-haired lord hopped closer to the window, folding his large wings close to his body to appear more discreet. Whilst pressing his face against the glass, he watched the man reluctantly rise from the bed. As soon as the lord's back was to him, he gasped sharply.

As the lord got up, strands of his long, silky white hair swept around his face and chest, exposing his back. Numerous scars marred the man's flawless white skin. Telltale whip marks in haphazard crisscrossed angles covered his backside down to his lower torso. The man's shoulder blades professed untold agony. The skin covering his shoulders was uneven and paper-like; unspoken remnants of severe, raw burns. As the wounds were only on the man's back, they took the red-haired lord completely off guard. The man's scarred back contrasted his perfectly milk-white visage and chest.

Despite seeing many horrors in his long lifetime, Walter recoiled.

Lord Armster deliberately flicked his hair back, obscuring his scars behind pure white curtains of long, straight hair.

With a heavy sigh, the pale nobleman approached the door and flung it open.

The carrot-haired servant, whom Walter recognized from previous visits, awaited him on the other side. Dressed in a simple brown linen dress and apron, she stood before him in the shadowy hallway beyond his chamber. When the lord's piercing blue eyes fell upon her, she gasped and bowed her head.

"What is it?" The pale nobleman snapped. "Unless your matter concerns Lady Rohesia, it can wait till morning."

The woman tensed. "Forgive me, milord, but Lord Cronqvist hath come to see you."

"Lord Cronqvist?" The pale nobleman's eyes narrowed. While giving the woman a scathing look, his lip curled. "I was not expecting him. I will not see him tonight."

"Lord Cronqvist was _very_ insistent." The woman replied, taking a small step back to distance herself - distrustful of the lord's unpredictable temper. "He asked about your recent injuries and seemed concerned for you."

"Not for _me_." Lord Armster scoffed, his lips forming a smirk as if something terribly funny had just reached his ears. "Lord Cronqvist wants to ensure his most valuable _asset_ will return to war, of course."

The woman paused a moment before replying. "Shall I send him away?"

Lord Armster sighed. After considering a moment, his terseness faded into reluctance. "No. Prepare a cup of tea and escort him to the solar room."

"He is already there, milord." The woman replied, her large, green eyes studying the man's unusual ashen visage. When he took notice of it, her eyes averted to the floor.

"Of course, he is." The lord scowled.

"I will bring a cup for your guest, as well-"

"No." He huffed. "Bring only _one_ cup, servant."

"As you wish, milord."

As she turned to leave, the nobleman paused in the doorway. "One more thing, servant."

"What is it, milord?" The woman turned and gave a short bow; her long, thick braid falling across her left shoulder.

The severity in the man's eyes briefly relented. "I hope the lady is well. Please tell her I would enjoy her company later this evening…if she wishes for it."

The woman nodded nervously. "I will, milord."

After pausing a moment, he added quietly. "Tell her…that I…"

His voice trailed away. As if regretting his words, he shook his head and slammed the door shut.

Curiosity overcame the red-haired lord. He noticed the man's frame tense as he hurried to find his robes, armor and boots. Walter stared at Lord Armster's nervous expression. His brow furrowed. Sensing the man's escalating apprehension, he flew from his perch, his thin, leathery wings gliding through the night's crisp air with ease. He would see to the lord again in a moment.

He spotted the imp scaling the side of the building, using the whip from its frog-headed hand to latch onto the ledges. Once the whip's tailed ends wound around them, the little creature hurtled itself upward and to the right, slowly but surely making its way toward the woman's chamber.

Walter's dark, bat eyes focused upon the little creature. Despite lacking the ability to fly, its determination to find the lady exceeded his expectations.

After a few minutes, the little creature at last reached her window ledge. Walter circled the air nearby, watching the imp peer through the window. Voices sounded from within. He swooped lower; his dark eyes sighting the lady as she rose from her bed to answer the door. Justine was seated in a chair by the room's large hearth, her bright, chestnut colored eyes focused upon the pages of a book in her lap.

Though it was late, the woman was fully dressed. The train of her long, grey dress trailed after her as she hurried to answer the door. Before opening it, her frame tensed, and her hand hesitated upon the handle.

Her head lowered as she whispered. "Please, God, may it not be _him_."

Upon answering the door and seeing the carrot-haired servant awaiting her, the lady breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Oh, Anneliese! _Thank God_ tis' you!"

"Forgive my interruption, milady." The servant bowed, her long, thick French braid falling over her shoulder. Upon straightening, she added quietly. "As you predicted, Lord Armster hath requested your presence this evening, Lady Rohesia. Surely, you will not refuse him _again_?"

"Why am I not surprised?" The lady rolled her eyes. Curtains of long, golden hair fell around her fair face, which paled in the wake of her request. "Tell him…" She paused. After thinking a moment, she continued. "I am presently _unclean, _and thus, unfit for his attention until the inconvenient 'sin of womanhood' subsides."

"Must you continue avoiding Lord Armster, even though he nearly died for you?" The carrot-haired woman shook her head. "I don't think his intentions are only lustful. Maybe, if you spoke with him-"

"I will _never_ go to him!" The lady folded her arms across her chest. "Even though he 'saved' me, I have no desire to hear anything else he has to say. After what he did-"

"But milady," The woman interjected, her voice straining, despite her efforts to withhold her frustration. "He misses you terribly! I see it in his eyes whenever he mentions you."

"As long as he keeps me missing my _family_, I shall hear none of his complaints!" She snapped, her voice losing some of its cordiality. "If I must suffer loneliness, so too, shall he!"

"I implore you; please give him another chance! Though he has made many mistakes, he means well-"

"I will not!" Her brow furrowed. After drawing a breath, she snapped. "If that is all you came here to discuss, you best return to your duties, Anneliese."

With a sigh, the servant shook her head. "Alas, you are as stubborn as ever, milady. I suppose, I may as well tell you Lord Cronqvist hath visited tonight-"

"Lord Cronqvist?" She gasped, her pale blue eyes widening in anticipation. "Tis' the perfect time to take my leave!"

"I thought you would say that." The ginger-haired woman remarked under her breath. Whilst giving the woman a disapproving look, she added. "Lord Armster will be saddened by your absence, milady. I know he wants to profess his feelings to you; he as much as revealed it when he asked for you tonight. You cannot avoid him forever!"

"I will think on how to deal with him." At last conceding to the woman's insistence, she sighed. "I have not seen Lord Bernhard in three days due to Lord Armster lurking about."

"I would not describe it as _lurking_." The woman replied. "I believe he fears your rejection. He desperately wants your company. War creates terrifying loneliness in those who live through it."

The lady scoffed. "Be that as it may, I will not be the angel of his house!"

"Do you know for certain that is what he wants?" Aware her question bordered impropriety; the servant bowed her head. "Not all men desire obedience. But he does desire your respect – which he has more than earned."

"Lord Bernhard has no expectation of me. I am free to do whatever I please in his company."

"Perhaps, if you explained this to Lord Armster, he would finally understand? He is merely a man – he cannot read your _mind_, milady."

"Lord Bernhard is far more than that." She smiled to herself. When the servant seemed prepared to object, she added softly. "Justine and I will leave in haste. God only knows what Lord Cronqvist needs to discuss. He reminds me of a vulture; ready to devour others as soon as they are no longer useful."

"Why do you feel so?" The carrot-haired woman huffed. "You barely know Lord Cronqvist! There is always more than meets the eye, milady."

"Indeed, though when it comes to _that_ man, I will not dare find out." After giving the other woman a wary look, the lady turned her attention to Justine.

The child, still seated in the chair by the hearth, looked up from the book.

With a disappointed sigh, the carrot-haired servant bowed and hurried off.

The moment Justine's eyes met the woman's, Lady Rohesia smiled. "We must leave, child, before Lord Armster notices. Gather your things, quickly! We shall pay Eternal Night's master a visit."

The little girl jumped up from her chair and scrambled for her fabric doll. Upon finding the peculiar object on the floor beside her chair, she picked it up by the arm, grinning as she replied. "Will Lord Walter show us the stars tonight?"

"That is up to him." The woman chuckled, her smile broadening. "If you behave yourself, I believe he will show you many things. Though…" Her voice quietened as she approached the hearth. Whilst giving the child a dubious look, she kneeled at the girl's eye level. The woman's voice adopted a serious tone. "Lord Bernhard has many servants, but they are not the kind you are accustomed to. Some of his servants are…" She paused, uncertain how to continue.

Before she could, the little girl jumped back and let out a loud shriek. Justine's eyes widened into saucers.

"Milady! There is a monster in the window!" The child pointed at the window behind them. Nearly frantic, the little girl clung to the skirt of the woman's dress. "It has come here to get us!"

The woman straightened and whirled in place. Upon sighting Pumpkin's grinning orange head in the window, she chuckled. The imp lifted its candied hand and waved; its boisterous squeaks muffled slightly by the glass pane separating them. "Pumpkin!" The woman's voice rose in excitement. Remembering Justine, she gave the little girl a reassuring hug. "Do not fear, child. Pumpkin hath simply come to greet us! It will not harm you."

"What _is_ it?" The little girl stared at the imp's unnerving hollow grin. Refusing to leave the lady's side, she buried her face into the woman's skirt. "Is Pumpkin that thing Lord Walter gave you?"

"Yes. I think the two of you shall be thick as thieves before long. If it is here, Lord Bernhard cannot be far." Without hesitating, the woman hurried to the window, unlatched it, and flung it open. The imp leapt into her arms; its boisterous squeaks filling the room as its little feet flailed against her in mutual excitement. The child remained by the hearth, her dark brown eyes tracing the little creature's bizarre appearance. With a smile, the lady set the creature down. "I am glad to see you, Pumpkin! Does Lord Bernhard desire our presence this evening?"

The imp nodded and pointed its candied hand at the window.

"I thought so." The woman replied; chuckling once again. "We best not keep him waiting, then. Before we depart, I would like to introduce you to someone." Turning to the little girl, she glanced between the two and continued. "Pumpkin, this is Justine Gandolfi. Please protect her as you would me."

Justine stared at the creature as it approached. Though somewhat small for her age, she was still slightly taller than the woman's unusual companion. After hesitating, the little girl made a short curtsy. Uncertain how to address it, she said. "Uh…hello."

As if in acknowledgement, the creature bowed and twirled playfully. Its mischievous disposition attracted the child's immediate attention. "Do you like to play, Pumpkin?" The little girl asked, her lips lifting into a broad, cheeky grin. When the creature nodded, she exclaimed gleefully. "Okay! How about we play tag? If you catch me, I'll give you some candy! Lady Rohesia told me you like candy a lot – what's your favorite kind?"

The imp cocked its head. Eager to maintain its attention, Justine reached into the pocket of her smock and withdrew a red and white striped sweet. As soon as the imp's hollow eyes noticed it, it hurried after her, its squeaking steps filling the room. With a loud giggle, the little girl tucked the treat into her pocket and took off. She had barely made it to the door when the creature's whip latched her by the wrist and jerked her backward. When it seemed the girl would fall, the imp threw itself forward and held her up. Boisterous squeaking steps sounded from its feet as it pranced in place, eagerly awaiting its reward.

With a huff, Justine withdrew the sweet – her eyes widening as the imp snatched it from her hand and scurried back to the lady. "No fair!" The child pouted. "Lady Rohesia didn't tell me you had a whip!"

The imp shrugged, its unwavering grin prompting the child to roll her eyes. Unable to resist its charm, Justine giggled. "You win - this time! Maybe I should show you how to play hide and seek instead?"

"Later, child." The lady smiled. She hurried to the door, waving for the child to follow. As quietly as she could, she opened the door and scanned the hallway beyond. "Lord Bernhard is waiting for us. Be quiet – even though Lord Armster permits our visits, I fear he will reconsider if he sees us. We cannot allow anyone to see Pumpkin, either."

Grasping Pumpkin's large, candied appendage in one hand and her doll in the other, she observed the woman's concerned expression. After glancing at the creature's pumpkin-shaped head and bizarre burlap body, she continued. "Why doesn't Pumpkin just take its helmet off, milady? Surely, it's just a kid like me-"

Before she could finish, the imp grasped its pumpkin-shaped head and lifted it clean off its body.

Justine shrieked. With a sheepish giggle, she whispered. "Gross! I didn't realize that was your actual _head_! How do you even _see_ or _move_?"

"Well, how do you do those things?" The woman asked, trying not to laugh when the child thought on it for a long moment.

"Maybe because I'm _alive_ – and I have a neck?" The girl remarked.

Shaking her head, and satisfied the way was clear, the woman replied. "Pumpkin is alive, too, Justine. It just…functions a bit differently than we do."

"Pumpkin, can you show me how to do that?" The girl asked.

Before the imp could consider her question, the lady interjected – maintaining a whisper to ensure they remained unnoticed. "Absolutely not! What would your mother and father think if you came home and took your head off? Your father would probably-"

"Think it's the best thing ever!" Justine exclaimed.

As they walked down the hall, the lady stifled a laugh.

* * *

When the trio were out of his sight, Walter flew around the manor once again, searching for the room in which Lord Armster and his guest would meet. As it would take some time for the lady to escape and find the stable boy to ready her horse, he circled the estate until his sensitive ears detected sound and movement from the manor's south side. Swooping lower, he sighted the dull glow of a newly kindled fire flickering through a window on the main floor. His large, fur-covered form landed upon the stone window ledge. As he hopped closer to the window, Lord Armster's silvery white form swept into the room.

The pale nobleman made a curt bow. His voice tinged with irritation as his cold, piercing eyes fell upon the other lord. "Lord Cronqvist."

The man's smile was bereft of any warmth. "Ah, tis' good to see you, Zaviean. I was on my way back from the Vatican and thought I should pay you a little visit. I hope your wounds are healing?"

"I am well." Unwilling to indulge the man's curiosity, the white-haired lord jumped straight to the point. "You went out of your way to come here. I thought the war was keeping you far too busy for such pleasantries?"

"Tis' true, though as of late, you have been occupying _far_ more of my time than the war." The other lord replied, his voice light, despite his waning cordiality. "How goes the horse breeding?" He asked, smirking. "I see you have expanded your collection. They are such lovely creatures." He looked the crusader in the eye. "Better yet, how goes your efforts with a _different_ lovely creature?" When the crusader returned his question with silence, a low chuckle vibrated from his throat as he muttered smugly. "Ah, I should not be surprised…"

"I see you have grown a beard since we last met." Lord Armster remarked, his eyes flitting to the other lord's formerly clean-shaven visage. The man's dark brown facial hair, kept short and perfectly brushed, prompted the pale lord to add coldly. "Not even that can hide your foulness, Lord Cronqvist - nor will it make you a man."

"What is a man?" The other lord asked, his voice darkening. He walked in front of the hearth and stood before it; his dark eyes glinting as the fires danced before him. Whilst moving his arms behind his back, his gaze returned to his host. Tendrils of long, chestnut colored hair framed his serious expression. As he stood there, firelight caught the metallic threads in his copper colored robes; giving him a subtle, disconcerting glow. His dark, penetrating eyes glared sharply. "I have told my son this and shall tell you the same: men are nothing but a miserable little pile of secrets, Lord Armster. Be that as it may, secrets can be useful…as long as your enemies do not know yours."

"Indeed." Lord Armster glared back. With a sigh, the crusader approached his chair by the hearth and sat down. Cushioned in dark blue velvet, he rested his hands on its arms and ushered for the man to take a seat in the chair across from his. "What do you want?" He asked, his lips curling as a low, emotionless chuckle escaped his throat. "I do not have any secrets for you, Lord Cronqvist. I assume you are not here for _my_ company."

"Of course not." Ignoring the man's polite invitation, Lord Cronqvist towered over him like a specter. "I heard you destroyed an entire town, Lord Armster. Though you wrote to the Pope saying it was overrun with heathens, the church found no evidence to support your claim."

"My word alone is insufficient?" Lord Armster drew his head back, his dark blue eyes gleaming indignantly. When the other lord failed to reply, he hissed. "I saved the town from the devil, yet you dare suggest-"

"I am not suggesting anything." Lord Cronqvist replied, giving the man a repugnant look. "The church, however, is incredulous. Cardinal Michael thought you had…"

"What?" The pale nobleman sneered. After studying the other lord's concerned expression, he shook his head and reached for the white teacup and saucer on the table beside his chair. The man's continued silence prompted him to add. "You were about to say something? Do mind your words…_very_ carefully."

Returning his glare, the other lord's smile faded. "How kind of you to offer me some tea, Lord Armster."

The pale nobleman brought the white porcelain cup to his lips. After taking a sip, he set it on the saucer in his lap with a smile. "Oh, it seems my servant forgot to bring you some. Forgive my indiscretion."

"Not until you explain why you destroyed that town!" The other lord's voice rose. The man lifted his head, his eyes blazing as he stared down at Lord Armster's ghostly white face. As if in the presence of a leper, repugnance quickly overshadowed his concern. "When I heard the news, I thought you had lost your mind! I let you return from the east for a brief reprieve, and _this_ is how you repay me? It took all my efforts to convince the Pope not to reprimand you! Were it not for your recent victory, they would have consigned you to the dungeons!"

"_You_ let me return?" Lord Armster's grip upon his teacup tightened. "No one but God _lets_ me do anything."

"As I am the only person vouching for your life, I may as well be your God, Lord Armster!" With an enraged snarl, the other lord knocked the teacup out of the man's hand. The cup hit the wall on the other side and shattered. Broken white pieces of porcelain littered the room's elaborate Persian carpet. "You know you cannot sortie without the church's permission. Your insolence is disappointing!"

Lord Armster did not move an inch. The pale lord stared at the man's severe expression a moment. As if nothing had occurred at all, he leaned back in his chair. "I do not give a damn what you think." He hissed. "You do not own _me_. I did not have time to ask!"

"Why not?"

"Nor do I answer to _you_." The pale nobleman added; an air of finality in his voice.

Unfazed by the white-haired lord's rebuke, Lord Cronqvist shook his head, his dark brown eyes stabbing daggers at the man. "As long as you require my protection, you _will_ answer, for your actions reflect upon _me_. To make matters worse, your injury in that unauthorized skirmish – or whatever you claim it was – delayed your return to the east."

"What if I do not intend to return to that hell?" The white-haired lord snapped, his eyes blazing with renewed fury. Nearly trembling, his hands gripped the arms of the chair. "I wish to find purpose in my life besides-"

"Ah, _now_ I understand." The lord withdrew from him, his lips forming a knowing smirk. He lifted a hand to his chin, stroking his newly grown beard in agitation. "Tis' that damn woman! Lady Rohesia is the cause of all this!"

"No, she is not!" Lord Armster's hands balled into fists. When the man's penetrating gaze refused to leave him, Lord Armster's voice became somewhat faint. "The devil left her, and only her, unblemished from its horrors. I did what was necessary to save her life!"

"That was _not_ necessary!" The other lord replied, his temper waning from of the man's objection. "That woman is not the church's concern. Her ridiculous accounts of what happened are merely hysterics. You nearly died saving her. The church, and I, would have lost a valuable defender of the Lord's will. The heathens _cannot_ win, and we _cannot_ lose more ground because of your ridiculous obsession with a stupid _woman_!"

Lord Armster jumped from his chair. Now, standing in front of the man at eye-level, his face paled a shade whiter than usual. His hand instinctively reached out for his sword. He pulled away just before his fingertips touched the weapon's hilt. The white-haired lord's silvery armor reflected the firelight, which illuminated his deathly pale form with startling lucidity. "Do not _ever_ speak ill of Lady Rohesia in my presence! I will not let anyone dishonor her, and especially not you. I wish to stay here and know her better…so that in turn, she may understand me, at last."

"Know _her_?" Lord Cronqvist burst into a loud, mocking laugh. Shaking his head, the man sighed, as if speaking to a petulant child. "What is there to know? I doubt you shall benefit from hearing her prattle about embroidery and the latest gossip."

"Lady Rohesia has no interest in any of those things." Lord Armster corrected, his voice lowering. After pausing a moment, he whispered softly. "She loves…salacious books, horses, and the stars. Were it not for that damn Lord Bernhard, perhaps…she would love me, as well-"

"_Salacious_ books?" The other lord raised an eyebrow. "For God's sakes man! Marry her, bed her, and make her with child! If she is reading such things, she clearly wants you to get it done with. Nevertheless, the church and I have not the time to wait for you to sard her."

"That is not all I want!" The pale nobleman's voice quavered. "That demon will return for her, I have no doubt. I _must_ protect her."

"Be that as it may, you are needed in the east. Our forces are weakening, and we may lose more ground yet. If your next campaign is successful, I may allow you to return sooner so you can wed her, at last."

Lord Armster's eyes widened. "You mean, you _will_. Nothing matters more to me than Arabella. Not even _your_ goddamn war."

"How _noble_ of you." The man's smirk broadened. While scanning the nobleman's unusual pale form from head to toe, he continued coldly. "I am rather talented at eliminating distractions, Lord Armster. Should Lady Rohesia become one, I would be sad to hear of her unexpected disappearance. Distractions have a way of vanishing when they become…inconvenient."

"I understand." Lord Armster whispered. He stepped closer to the man and smiled. His unnerving calm almost prompted the other man to draw away, though – as Walter expected – _pride_ made him steadfast. As the pale lord stood before him, lost in the brief silence that followed, firelight reflected in his blue, abyss-like spheres. "If Lady Rohesia were to…_disappear_, as you say…I would be shocked to hear news of your sudden and tragic suicide, Lord Cronqvist. The church would surely not allow a man who killed himself to have a Christian burial. Your family would be devastated, and your son's reputation would forever be stained by his father's dishonor."

Lord Cronqvist snorted. "You have an excellent talent for killing men on the battlefield, but I would suggest you leave subterfuge and skullduggery to the professionals." He stepped over the broken teacup and towards the door. Just as the man grabbed the door's handle, he looked back at the nobleman. The moment Lord Armster's dark blue eyes met his, he shook his head. "Do you think Lady Rohesia would want to marry a deserter and a coward?" He paused. "Do you think _God_ would want that?"

Without waiting for a reply, Lord Cronqvist departed the room.

With a grief-filled sigh, the white-haired nobleman collapsed into his chair. A soft, barely audible sob wracked his chest as he shrank into himself, his face partially veiled by his long, white hair.

Upon hearing someone enter the room, he abruptly straightened. Realizing it was his servant, and not the lady, he asked sharply. "Where is Lady Rohesia? Did you tell her I wish to see her tonight? I…only wish to _speak_ with her, nothing more."

"I told her, milord." The woman bowed. "Lady Rohesia has another commitment this evening."

His gauntlet-encased fingers dug into the arms of the chair. "What kind of…_commitment_?"

After a pause, the woman replied. "The lady hath departed to visit Lord Bernhard, milord."

"Lord Bernhard?" The pale nobleman's eyes narrowed. With a heavy sigh, he rose from his chair. The woman backed away; her eyes widening as the white-haired lord swiftly crossed the room toward the door. After kicking the broken remnants of his teacup sharply out of his path, his hands clenched into fists. His head lowered. "She will not see me tonight?"

"No, milord." She shook her head. Upon noticing the debris scattered across the carpet, she added carefully. "Are you…well, milord?"

"I am fine." He replied, flicking his hair back. His eyes flitted briefly to the mess scattered around his feet. After a short silence, he gave the woman an icy look. "Clean this up at once! I will return to bed - and this time, do _not_ disturb me. I don't care if the second coming of Christ is upon us; I wish to be left alone."

The woman nodded, her light green eyes scanning the man's sorrowful expression. "What if Lady Rohesia wishes to speak with you after all, milord?"

The nobleman's cold gaze softened. As he turned away, he replied faintly. "I will never refuse her. Yet, as I am the cause of her pain…I can only hope she will forgive me, one day."

"She will, milord." The woman replied softly. "Give her time. She does not know the extent of your love for her – nor your suffering-"

"Enough!" Unwilling to hear her further, Lord Armster stormed out of the room.


	11. Paraprosdokian

**Chapter 11**

Walter led them into a massive room, which often doubled as a sort of study.

Justine's voice rose in excitement upon seeing the room's vast height. "Why do you have a room this big, Lord Walter?"

"For this, of course." He pointed at the room's massive telescope located to the right of the door. The device loomed above them like a giant; making even his tall stature seem small by comparison. "I enjoy studying here." He remarked, looking over his shoulder at the lady, and Pumpkin, trailing not far behind. "Unfortunately, I have neglected my studies as of late due to more…important matters."

Catching his eye, the lady bowed her head. Her long golden hair partially curtained her smile.

Pumpkin wandered about the room, its squeaking steps echoing hers. Though the creature never strayed far from the lady, it jumped, as if in surprise, upon seeing the telescope. Its spherical orange head titled upward. While appearing to admire the impressive object, it hummed the lady's song.

"What do you study?" The little girl asked, her attention momentarily drifting to the massive device.

"The stars…and many other things." He answered enigmatically.

The child's large, chestnut eyes wandered to the wall in front of them, which boasted numerous brown shelves covered with books. A large hearth, not currently in use, was located between the shelves in the wall. Several short, steel beams protruded along the room's furthest right wall; appearing to lead upwards to a ledge high above. A low mechanical humming sounded reverberated through the room. Numerous cogs and gears, partially hidden behind the wall, peeked through square shaped holes dotted throughout its stone facing.

Justine ran to the room's only table beneath the telescope's massive eyepiece. "What's this?" With a loud grunt, she lifted a large, heavy book up. The girl's nose wrinkled when a swirl of dust flew into the air. Unmindful of permission, she set it back down on the table with a loud thump and flipped it open. "It doesn't have any pictures!"

"I do not need them." The red-haired lord flicked his hand, his dark spheres glinting. He watched her scan the book's yellowed pages with muted interest. "Though, admittedly, that one _is_ quite boring…"

"Why are you reading it, then?" She asked, her brow furrowing. "Papa often reads to me. His stories are about dragons, knights and princesses!"

"Perhaps, Lord Bernhard enjoys reading about other things?" Lady Rohesia gave the child an amused look.

"Like what?" The girl asked. "If papa read this to me, I'd fall asleep!"

"Perhaps I should lend it to him?" Walter chuckled; his eyes glinting when the child huffed in objection. "Only through knowledge can one free themselves from ignorance."

The girl frowned. "What does _ignorance_ mean?"

He swept toward the table; his imposing form looming over her. "It means to not know something. Sometimes, it also refers to people who cannot read or write. Has anyone taught you how?"

"A little bit." Her eyes drifted from the book to the floor. "Papa said a lot of people can't do any of that. He doesn't have much time to teach me, even though he wants to. Philippe is very sick, so he's trying to make him medicine. Mama says we can't afford all the stuff he needs for it."

"Philippe?" The red-haired lord's brow furrowed.

The little girl's lips forced a smile. Suddenly, her voice quietened. "My little brother – don't you remember me telling you about him? He used to cry a lot but since he got sick…he doesn't anymore. Mama is trying to save enough money but…" Her voice trailed away. She lifted her doll and clutched it to her chest; its singular red eye gleaming in the candlelight. Her voice quavered. "I used to think he was annoying and wanted him to go away. Maybe it's my fault he's sick. I forgot to close the window in his room. He got sick right after that…"

"It is not your fault." As the lady approached, her calm, gentle voice drew the girl's attention. "Sometimes, things happen that we cannot control."

"Why? I don't understand!" With a sigh, she stomped her foot. "Philippe is a _baby_; he didn't do anything! It's not fair! Papa and mama are sad all the time. I bet they… think he's going to _die_." Tears welled in her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. She wiped them away with the back of her sleeve. "I don't…I don't want him to die. Will he go heaven? What if he doesn't know how to get there?"

The lady kneeled and drew the girl into a gentle embrace. Curtains of long blonde hair swept across Justine's small figure as if to shield her. "I will ask Lord Armster for the money. I am certain, once I explain the circumstances, he will help…" Her voice trailed away. Briefly, uncertainty filtered through her crystalline spheres. "If he will not, I will find another way."

Walter watched them silently. He had not expected a _child_ to ask such profound questions. Yet, whilst gazing at the little girl's distressed expression, he understood her frustration. Despite his long life, he still asked the same questions as she.

There was nothing in human society that money could not buy: friendship, power, peace, and, of course, _life itself_. Throughout his existence, he had paid many humans for their pleasure and, conversely, their silence. The power to change human lives, whether for better or worse, appealed to him. He wondered what would happen if he chose to intervene rather than spectate. Despite his initial aversion of the girl, her candid, wide-eyed curiosity fascinated him. He relished the opportunity to exert his power, even subtly.

After releasing the child, the lady's voice lightened. "Lord Bernhard has lots of books. Perhaps, if you are good, he will let you read them?"

"Really?" The girl's large, brown eyes stared up at the woman's smiling expression. She wiped her eyes once again. "Maybe I can teach Philippe to read, one day."

"Why not?" The lady chuckled. "You could help your father with his work, too. I'm sure Sir Gandolfi reads quite a lot."

"Papa's always in the study." Justine remarked. "He doesn't have as many books as Lord Walter, though." After looking at the room's numerous shelves, her attention shifted to the red-haired lord. "Do you _really_ read all of these books, Lord Walter? Papa tells me rich men have lots of important stuff to do!"

The moment his cryptic gaze met the child's, he chuckled under his breath. Impressed by her natural ability to amuse him, he replied confidently. "As your lady explained, I am unlike most people. Though, like you, my attention is fleeting. I have read many books in this room but not all. One day, you will learn how to balance priorities, as I have."

"I can do that!" She straightened her posture to appear taller. Walter watched her with growing interest, his larger form towering over her despite her effort. "Do you know what it's like to work for Lord Armster? I'm supposed to serve the lady, but he barks at me _all the time_: Servant! Find Anneliese; she is late with my tea! Servant! My sword is not sharp enough; tell the blacksmith I want it done again! _Servant! Servant! Servant!_"

As soon as the child said the word 'servant,' Arabella's gaze averted to the floor.

He brought a hand to his chin. He did not understand her disapproval. Never in his existence had he seen a lady treat their handmaids as she did. Though she did not outwardly defy convention, her thoughtfulness perplexed him.

Justine straightened her posture; her lips forming a scowl mirroring her master's. "One time, Anneliese asked me to clean Lord Armster's chamber because he was _really_ grumpy that day-"

"Did you just describe Lord Armster as _grumpy_?" The lady laughed.

"I'm sorry, Lady Rohesia. Mama would probably tell me not to say that."

"Do not fret." She reassured. "My mother would tell _me_ not to interrupt."

After giving the lady a modest bow, the little girl continued. "Lord Armster left some papers and books on his bed. I thought all he'd want to read about was boring war stuff, but…he had a bunch of letters from _you_, milady. They had your handwriting!"

The woman's smile abruptly faded.

"I think he was writing something for you. Your name was on a letter, but it wasn't finished. Lord Armster must've had a lot to say because it was _long_. I don't understand why he'd write when he could just talk to you?"

After a pause, she whispered. "Some people are uncomfortable with talking."

Without missing a beat, the child nodded. "I'm not!"

"No, you certainly are not." Walter's eyes glinted. Sensing the lady's discomfort, he added carefully. "Were you not supposed to be cleaning your master's chamber?"

"They were all over his bed! I had to move them to make it." She protested. "I think Lord Armster was going to throw his letter away because it was crumpled up. I wanted to see if I knew any words. Papa tells me I should practice!"

"Did you find any?" Walter asked, his lips forming a shrewd grin.

The lord was undoubtedly up to something, for his steely determination had proven far greater than even _he_ anticipated. Though he regretted the lord's survival, Lady Rohesia's visits tempered his bitterness, somewhat. His game with lord Armster _had not even begun._

Lady Rohesia's formerly warm expression turned solemn.

"I couldn't read most of it." Justine explained. "The only words I could read were…_forgive me_ and _I love you_. I see those words a lot in stories papa reads to me."

With a heavy sigh, her head lowered. "I wish he had given it to me..."

The red-haired lord's lips curled. He tossed his head, curtaining his scowling expression behind the thick locks of his crimson hair. With a low huff, he snipped under his breath. "I am certain Lord Armster refrained for a reason."

"Maybe he'll write another one?" Justine suggested.

When the lady gave no reply, the child returned her attention to him. The little girl's eyes brightened. "Unlike your boring old book, Lord Walter, one of Lord Armster's books had pictures in it!"

"Is that so?" He asked, uncertain of her meaning.

The child nodded. "Lord Armster's picture book was very strange, though. All the people in it were naked! The only naked people I've seen in books are Adam and Eve. One page showed two naked ladies and a gentleman hugging and smiling. They must've been having a party because they looked happy!"

When he glanced at Lady Rohesia, amusement quickly replaced her sorrow. The lady's lips formed a wry smile. Barely withholding a chuckle, she brought a hand across her mouth. She looked away from him to the floor, her long golden hair hiding her reddening cheeks. Under her breath, she muttered. "_Zounds! I did not expect the child would find it…_"

The red-haired lord's lips pressed into a slow, knowing smile. After a brief pause, his gloved hand brushed aside the strands of crimson hair partially veiling his right eye. He brought a hand to his chin, his deep, resonant voice filling the room. "It seems your master appreciates…_art_, child. Were you to visit Italy or France, such portrayals of the human body are common."

The lady's eyes widened. "I would love to see the art you speak of myself!"

Walter's smile broadened. "Perhaps, one day, you shall." Then, directing his attention to the child, he added. "If you know how to read, you can learn a great deal about the world."

Thinking on his words, the little girl's large, brown eyes focused on him again. "Did your papa teach you to read, like mine?"

He shook his head, his smile abruptly fading. "I taught myself. Alas, I would have appreciated a teacher."

Upon glancing the lady's direction, sadness overcame her. Her grey-blue eyes investigated his, their beauty professing an understanding requiring no words. With a low huff, he returned his attention to the child. His dark, probing gaze focusing on the little girl with renewed interest. Seldom had he spoken to anyone as curious as she.

Justine looked at the woman in excitement. "Lady Rohesia is a good teacher! Sometimes, she lets me take books home so I can practice. Mama thought I took them until I told her the lady likes it when I read to her." Then, gazing at the book's faded pages once more, she pointed to a section of text with a noticeable circle drawn around it. The circle's bold, black ink contrasted the book's faded handwriting.

"What do these words mean?"

He looked down at the page. "This book is written in Latin, child."

"What does it say?" Her eyes locked upon the only part of the text that was marked. "Laaaay….pizzzzz…vuuuuur…meeee….cooo….lllllow."

Walter picked up the book and snapped it shut. "_Lapis vermiculo_."

"What does that mean?"

A slow, knowing creased the corners of his lips. "Tis' best you learn easy words before difficult ones."

"Lapis vermiculo!" Justine parroted his pronunciation. "See! I can say it too, Lord Walter!"

"Indeed." His eyes flickered red.

Not wanting her to pry into affairs her young mind could not comprehend, he returned the book to the table. He had read it so many times he knew most of its contents by memory. No matter how much he studied it, the text refused to reveal its secrets, if it had any to offer. He had spent weeks reading it, only to discover the last two pages were missing. He remembered looking at the jagged tears professing where its last pages _should_ have been. After making this discovery, he threw the book into the room's hearth. As he had not lit it that evening, the book survived.

"What's this?" Justine pointed to a large sheet of parchment illustrated with grid marks, mathematical calculations and hundreds of dots. It was spread out across the table beside the book. Several large paper weights kept its corners from rolling. The parchment, as well as its inky black illustrations, were faded from years of use.

He glanced at the object, realizing the girl did not understand its complex meaning. Unsurprised it had drawn her attention, his lips lifted into a practiced smile. "That is a star chart."

"What does it do?" Her large chestnut eyes stared up at him in wonderment.

The red-haired lord pointed a gloved index finger at one of the chart's numerous dots. "It allows me to find and label specific stars."

"Why do you want to do that?"

"It helps one determine which direction to travel. For example, Polaris – the star I am pointing at – indicates North. If you know which star is Polaris, you will know which direction is North."

"How can you tell? There are so many!"

"One must study a great deal to understand them, as I have. A telescope is useful for viewing the sky more closely."

"What's a telescope? I don't think my mama and papa have one."

"A telescope is this object here." He flicked his cloak back and ushered grandly to the device before them, which took up a significant portion of the room.

An enormous steel cradle atop a tripod supported its heavy cylindrical tube, which was angled upward at the sky. A large square hole in the wall created a perfect view of the night beyond. The telescope was so massive that its eyepiece was impossible to reach without a ladder.

Justine stared up at the device in awe, her eyes widening whilst she exclaimed. "Oh! Mama and papa don't have one! It wouldn't fit in our house!"

"Most telescopes are not this large, child." He chuckled.

"How can anyone use it? It's too big!"

He enjoyed the fact Justine looked to him for every answer; as if he alone held all the knowledge in the world. Despite admiring her inquisitiveness, he suspected she could pose a risk, if he was not careful. The child absorbed his every word and action with keen interest; her attention revealing a natural propensity to seek knowledge.

Sensing the girl's confusion, he would indulge her curiosity, if only to satisfy his own. "Would the young lady like to see?"

Without hesitation, the girl turned to the woman beside her. "Lady Rohesia, can I? Please?"

The lady nodded. "If Lord Bernhard does not mind showing you, yes, you may."

He returned the woman's acquiescence with a gracious bow. "It would be my pleasure."

"I wish I could stay in your castle forever, Lord Walter!" The child jumped in excitement, her eyes brightening as she stared up at his ashen visage.

The red-haired lord motioned for the girl to approach. Like a hawk preparing to snatch a rabbit in its talons, he stared down at her a moment. Slowly, his indifference gave way to subtle enthusiasm. He did not realize how _bored_ he was. He forgot what it felt like to look upon such things until the woman and child visited. Vaguely, he remembered wandering about the same room in which they stood as a young boy. Recollections of him studying the stars surfaced and disappeared within his memories.

Like the child, he was once ignorant and unimportant.

He lifted Justine up. Since she was small, he easily held her with one arm. As he swept toward the telescope, Pumpkin's squeaking steps broke the room's peaceful silence. The creature's odd crescent-shaped smile drew his attention. Like an impatient child, it extended its stumpy arms and jumped in place. The red-haired lord scoffed and lifted his foot, ready to kick the thing out of his way like a ball.

Justine's insistence gave him pause. "Pumpkin wants to see, too!"

While giving the child a dismissive look, he attempted to nudge the creature out of the way with his boot. To his chagrin, the imp refused to move. "It cannot _want_, child."

"If that is so, why is Pumpkin insisting you pick it up?" The lady interjected. "It seems to enjoy music as well, for it learned to hum my song."

"Were it truly intelligent, it would move before I lose my patience…and as for music, it is merely mimicking your will, not its own."

"I did not will it to sing, as I was unaware it could." She countered.

Not wanting to debate the semantics of consciousness, he picked the imp up – holding it in one arm, and the child in the other. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the woman's lips lift into a smile.

"Where's the ladder?" The child looked around the room. Unable to find the object, her attention returned to him. "I can't find it-"

"I do not need a ladder, child." Paying her confusion no mind, his feet slowly left the floor. As if it were expected, he lifted himself and his unwitting cargo into the air. The red-haired lord's long black cloak fluttered behind him as he carried them high above the floor. His lips formed a smirk when the child, completely astonished by what had just occurred, stared at him silently. For the first time, she seemed unable to think of anything to say. He relished the brevity of her silence, knowing it would not be long before she found her voice again.

The lady, now far below them, stared up in amused wonderment.

While the child took in her bearings, he commanded the telescope to change positions. A low, rumbling groan filled the room as the instrument's large steel tube adjusted its position. The sight of it moving unassisted made the girl's eyes widen into saucers.

At last, finding her voice, she breathed. "Did…did you do _that_, Lord Walter?"

"Of course." He shrugged, his indifference capturing her utterly. "Do you remember that dot I pointed to on the star chart?"

"Uh…no?" She answered, hesitantly. "There were so many, how can I remember _one_ dot?"

"Practice, child." With a low chuckle, he carried her and the imp closer to the device's large eyepiece until it was within reach. "If you look through that lens, you will see Polaris, the North Star."

"Isn't that the star the wise men followed to find baby Jesus?" The girl's eyes brightened.

Upon hearing her suggestion, he gave the child an exasperated look. "Yes, if you believe such notions."

"I want to see it!" With a gleeful cry, she shifted herself forward and pressed her face against the eyepiece.

The imp, as if intrigued by her sudden interest, leaned forward as well – its large, spherical head taking up most of the viewing space. Loud, boisterous squeaks sounded from its feet when they flailed against him. With a sigh, the red-haired lord rolled his eyes. Like the ancient Greeks, Christians sought to give the stars meaning. He heard the tale the child spoke of countless times.

After peering through the lens, she huffed. Her voice filled with disappointment. "It doesn't look like how I imagined…"

"What were you expecting?"

"I thought it would be bigger."

"It _is_ bigger. That star is far larger than Earth's sun." Then, realizing he had never _seen_ the sun to confirm his theory, he corrected. "Based upon my…estimation."

"I thought the telescope would make it huge! Why can't we go there and see them?"

Walter chuckled. Not even he could bring the stars closer, or travel to them. Thinking on this, he gave the girl a patient smile. His voice softened. "Alas, some things are not within even my power, child."

"I know that! You're not _God_, Lord Walter."

He gave the child an amused look. Were he to obtain the Crimson Stone, he would be the next closest thing to _God Himself_. In fact, even now, he was the nearest thing to a god she would ever lay eyes upon. Nevertheless, he liked the fact she did not know the world, for her mind was still receptive to knowledge. Youth, though fleeting, held the promise of endless possibility. He could teach her things that had taken him centuries to uncover. Briefly, emptiness overcame him. As he had no children, his knowledge, history and experiences remained confined to memory.

When the child's curiosity was at last, temporarily satisfied by the telescope, he returned the child and imp to the ground. As expected, Lady Rohesia awaited him.

"Would the lady care to see?" He ushered to the telescope, his lips lifting into a tiny smirk.

The woman nodded, her long grey dress skimming the floor when she glided closer. "If you do not mind?" Then, turning to the child, she said. "Wait here, Justine. I shall return soon."

He extended his gloved hand, his dark eyes glinting when she immediately accepted it. He slowly drew her toward him, his great frame bending slightly as he lowered his face by her ear. Her soft, golden hair skimmed his cheek. His deep, rich voice whispered faintly. "My game is with you, not the child. Yet, you bring her here knowing if it suited me…"

The lady's eyes met his. With a soft smile, she lifted her head. Her warm cheek skimmed his. "Oh, please, there is no sport in hunting _children_, Lord Bernhard. You are far more selective than that, judging by your desire for a worthy opponent."

The red-haired lord's smirk broadened. "As you so often challenge me, perhaps, I already found one."

With a low chuckle, he lifted her into his arms and rose off the floor; his long, black cloak fluttering around him as he ascended to the telescope's eyepiece. Thinking on her stories and her character, he observed. "As you are fond of horses, perhaps you can tell me the story of Pegasus? I will adjust the telescope's position so we may look at it more closely."

The woman's eyes widened. "You like these stories?"

"They entertain me." He commanded the massive device to move with his thoughts. The telescope's large, cylindrical tube tiltd according to the coordinates he had memorized long ago. Though he could find every constellation in the sky, he knew none of their stories. Dismayed by this realization, he whispered. "You inspire me to view the stars differently."

The lady nodded, her face reddening from his admission. Then, smiling, she spoke softly. "Pegasus was born when the warrior, Perseus, killed Medusa by cutting off her head. The winged horse sprang from her neck."

"What?" A loud, booming laugh fled his throat. When the woman looked at him in confusion, he shook his head. "Of course, _humans_ would believe they could kill Medusa…"

The lady rolled her eyes. "For God's sakes, I am not psychic milord - explain yourself!"

With a wry look, he chuckled under his breath. "Medusa is very much alive, despite her…circumstances."

Her crystalline spheres widened. "Medusa is not real, Lord Bernhard!" When he stared at her, saying nothing, her mouth fell agape. "God's bones and eyes! Do you mean to tell me Medusa lives _here_, in _your_ castle? Are you _sarding mad_? She is not a toy!"

The red-haired lord chuckled again. "Not here. She much prefers the garden. If I recall correctly, she has a rather large collection of statues decorating her chamber walls."

"I suppose, they were once…" Her voice trailed away. Understanding his implication, she noted. "Of course, _you _would _'_happen' to have her_…_"

"I cannot say for certain she is Medusa." He admitted, the confidence in his voice not wavering for an instant despite his doubt. "She may merely be the embodiment of what Medusa _represents_. Nevertheless, she has proven quite useful, as well as troublesome – for none have survived her."

"Why have you not introduced us?" She asked, her brow furrowing. "For one who likes to impress, I am surprised."

"She is a monster; she has no interest in you, unless you wish to join her collection."

Her subtle insult made his lip twitch, even though he should not have given it any attention. The possibility of her dying was too great a risk. His throat tightened at the thought of her becoming another statue in the garden; her voice, stories and memories silenced and forgotten by time. He would not allow a lowly servant to harm her, for her life belonged to _him_.

When her eyes met his, he remarked. "For you to meet such an end would be very…" He paused a moment, trying to phrase his response as subtly as possible. "_Disappointing_."

"According to legend, Medusa was a beautiful human woman, once." Suddenly, sadness appeared in her eyes. With a sigh, she lowered her head, as if what she was about to say was too difficult to articulate. "The sea god Poseidon coveted Medusa, so much so, that he ravaged her in Athena's temple. Athena, offended by her temple's desecration, punished Medusa by turning her hair into snakes. Medusa is a victim of lust, not a monster."

"I doubt those she killed would agree." He smirked.

Then, noticing her sorrow, his amusement slowly faded. _How_ Medusa came to be a monster changed nothing. At least, to him.

But not to her.

As he looked at her despondent expression, he thought on her vulnerability. Like Poseidon, power enabled him to do whatever he pleased. He sought power and control through the taking of life, not the taking of 'purity,' despite its religious and philosophical significance. Throughout his long existence, he came to understand the dark desires of human men.

He thought on Lord Armster's covetousness, and the crumpled letter articulating what may have been a profound longing for acknowledgement. Repugnance swept across his face when he imagined the pale-haired lord sitting upon his bed, quill in hand, desperately trying to comprehend the difference between love and lust. He wondered if it was possible for both emotions to co-exist without one overcoming the other. Unable to pen the words his heart yearned to say, the lord gratified himself to images of a love he desired and would never have.

She broke their gaze and stared down at the floor. It was the same look he remembered the fateful night they met. Her voice fell quiet. "I feel for her _and_ those she killed. Will she forever serve you, even after learning of her defilement?"

His voice softened. "Those with power decide all things. I have learned that, whether actions are just or not, does not always change the outcome."

When her eyes met his once again, she lifted her hand and touched his face. His eyes widened when he felt her warm, soft fingers against his cheek. A gentle, sad smile crossed her lips as she gazed up at him.

Regretting his insensitivity, he bowed his head.

The woman averted her attention to the telescope. "If you will not let me see Medusa, Pegasus will suffice." She leaned forward and looked through the telescope's large eyepiece. "Where is it? I've searched the entire bloody sky and cannot find it!"

"Pegasus is one of the largest constellations. It should be obvious."

"All I see are a bunch of dots that look nothing like a horse." She chuckled. "Is it strange I prefer stories more than stars?"

"I did not expect _you_ would be the one to lack imagination." His lips formed a slow, gentle smile.

She laughed, the sound of her joy filling his ears. He peered through the eyepiece, easily sighting the constellation in question. While looking upon it, he pictured the horse from legend rearing; its outstretched wings carrying it through the starry abyss like a bird. The legends made the stars feel _alive_. Stunned by this new concept, he gazed at the sky with renewed wonderment.

Once again, he thought on the lady's question regarding Medusa. Although his views were more sensible, he could not deny the woman's persuasiveness. Like Medusa, her beauty made her vulnerable. "Would you prefer if I released the monster unto the world?" His obscure, probing eyes glared at her in frustration. "As long as she serves me, she cannot harm countless innocents. When all options are unfavorable, one must decide which is the least. Is her freedom more important than human lives?"

The woman drew back from the eyepiece. When her grey-blue eyes returned him, she sighed. "Of course, _you_ would say that. What if it was not for you to decide, Lord Bernhard? Sometimes the best intentions have the worst outcomes. I hope she one day finds peace." Then, pausing a moment, she added softly. "You encourage me to question my views, without dismissing them entirely. I am surprised."

"Why is that?" He raised an eyebrow, somewhat taken aback by her confession.

"I am human." She whispered softly. "And, a woman at that."

Uncertain how to respond, he broke their gaze. "Yes…and a rarity among your kind."

He did not want her to remind him of the fact she was mortal. He feared her humanity _enhanced_, rather than lessened, his interest in her. The more she visited, the less sure he was of his authority – and his disdain for her kind. Though she held no power, he yielded to her. He did not understand why she compelled his attention, when so many others had not. Uncertainty tremored through him.

Her attention focused on him. Inquisitiveness, rather than fear, reflected in her eyes as she looked up at his smooth, pale features and crimson hair. She studied him a long moment, tracing his flawless skin and eternally youthful countenance. He wondered what she was thinking, for her gaze initially revealed nothing.

Then, as if considering herself, and him, she transformed her thoughts into words. "Have you turned anyone before? Surely, living here completely alone must be boring, after a time. You could have turned _me_, if you wanted to." Then, thinking on her words, she chuckled. "Not that I would _let_ you, of course!"

Walter smirked.

Though her question did not surprise him, he wondered why she sought an answer. Unlike other mortals, she did not desire power. He knew not what she wanted – or if she wanted anything at all. He parted his lips, revealing the needle-like points of his incisors. Despite his reluctance, his gaze flitted to her neck. He wondered if her blood was as exquisite as she while, simultaneously, resenting his weakness for it. Had he wanted it; he would have claimed it already…but he _chose_ not to.

His voice abruptly darkened. "Most humans are unworthy of eternity. I am not inclined to saddle myself with a _fledgling_. If I desired a pet, I would sooner get a dog."

"You do not want more of your kind? If anything, I half-expected you to want to…'share' the fun, so to speak."

"It has little to do with want, milady." While gazing into her crystalline spheres, he felt the Ebony Stone's power pulse softly, as if in objection. He forced his lips into a smile, concealing his waning restraint. "Eternity affects humans differently. Like children, fledglings must be protected and educated. Most go mad unless they learn how to control their powers and urges. Tis' a risk I am unwilling to take, for now. Perhaps, one day, I will reconsider."

"I hope not." Seemingly understanding his answer, she fell silent.

Though he had given eternity to some, it was never by _their_ choice. He turned them just to see how long they would last. The curse affected each differently. Some refused to consume blood and eventually perished. Occasionally, he killed them for sport after growing tired of them. Since their powers did not equal his, he destroyed the unwanted pests effortlessly. Had he tried to protect and teach them, most would have survived. As none were worthy, he let 'nature' take its course.

He wondered if the woman would fare better. Were he to turn her, she would be forever bound to _him_.

He drifted back to the floor and set her down. Knowing their time was reaching an end, he sighed and swept a graceful bow. "Dawn is coming, milady." His lips formed a wistful smile. After she returned to her world, he would remain in his. Rarely had he ever thought on this fact, for he had been content with the night. As soon as she left, his 'haven' seemed more like an invisible cage. Despite himself, he whispered. "There was a time I thought nothing was beyond my power. Alas, knowing you must return, and that I cannot follow, reveals that is untrue."

"You needn't follow, for I shall return, always." She smiled. "Or, at least, until you decide to end our game…"

Her reassurance comforted him, even though he would not admit it. Catching her cheek, he huffed softly. "I prefer to keep things as they are."

The lady curtsied politely, her long golden hair sweeping around her graceful form. Upon straightening, her eyes widened. "Where is Justine?"

He scanned the room. To his displeasure, the child – and Pumpkin – were absent. "The child could not have gone far. I can sense her presence-"

"Lord Walter! Lord Walter!"

Justine raced into the room. Her unnatural speed took them both by surprise. The lady's eyes widened as the child ran parallel to the wall, her swiftness making her impossible to see clearly. Pumpkin's slower, squeaking form followed suit. Nearly tripping over itself, it hurried after her like a lost puppy. Despite the imp's effort to give chase, the child left it carelessly behind.

"Justine! What on earth are you doing?" The lady gasped. "God's wounds, child! When shall you learn not to run off by yourself? You made me sick with worry!"

"While you and Lord Walter were talking, I got bored and wanted to explore! I was only gone for a few minutes, milady. Pumpkin kept Lord Walter's servants away. I found a strange dog paw in a room!"

"You should not take things without asking!" Despite her concern, she gave the child an amused smile. "I should have known you would get into mischief. Please return it to Lord Bernhard."

"It's so much fun, though!" Her small form sprinted around the telescope's large tripod. As she ran, a strange spinning wind whipped around her body. "I can run _really_ fast! Not even papa could catch me!"

"If you do not return it this instant, you best hope _I_ don't catch you!" Laughing, the lady picked up the skirt of her dress and tore after her. "Come back here, little scoundrel!"

Walter shook his head. He had not expected the child to find one of his relics. Most relics were secured in locked rooms throughout his castle. He left them deliberately, for humans needed them to explore some areas of his domain. Though the relics aided their efforts to thwart him, as they made his games more interesting, he permitted his guests these small 'gifts.' When the human inevitably died, his monsters retrieved them from their corpse and returned them to their designated locations. If a challenger wanted to obtain all his relics, they would have to risk their life returning to areas they had already visited to succeed. Such inconveniences pleased him, for he was not inclined to make things too easy for the wretches. The harder the challenge, the worthier the opponent…and the _reward_. Nevertheless, he could not discern how the child managed to obtain the laboratory's relic. Since the doors were usually locked, he surmised one of his creatures must have forgotten to secure it.

As the whelp raced around the room, he marveled at the fact a _child_ learned to utilize its power. Most adults did not possess the skill to use relics. His lips curled; his thoughts drifting to the alchemist. Though a child, she had absorbed some of her father's teachings – likely, without fully realizing it. As he watched the woman's grey form attempt to give chase, he chuckled under his breath. He did not know why he found their antics endearing. Though troublesome, they entertained him in ways he had not expected.

Lady Rohesia was no match for Justine's superior speed.

The little girl ran a circle around the woman, her small form a blur whilst she taunted. "See! I told you, you couldn't catch me, milady!"

Breathless, the woman slowed to a halt and rasped. "…I will catch you! Just…give me a moment…to catch my breath, first…goddamn it…!"

Tired of observing, Walter strode toward the duo, watching the child's racing movements like a cat stalking a mouse. He tossed his head, hiding his growing amusement behind the coils of his rich, crimson hair. Without batting an eye, he translocated across the room and appeared directly in front of the child as she attempted to run another circuit. The little girl collided into him. Nearly falling back, she let out a gasp as he snatched her by the back of her collar and lifted her off the floor. Like a lion carrying a cub in its mouth, he dangled her smaller form up in front of him – his dark, penetrating eyes locking upon her chestnut ones.

A loud, booming laugh vibrated from his throat as the child flailed in the air, hopelessly trying to free herself from his iron-like grip. He lifted his other hand and shook his gloved index finger at her, feigning disappointment, despite his amusement. "That is enough, child. You will do as your lady asks and give it here. The 'dog paw,' as you call it, is not a toy."

"How…how did you do that?" The little girl kicked and flailed her arms and legs. Her large, wide eyes locked upon him in disbelief. "Can you show me how to do that, too?"

"Lord Bernhard is special, Justine." The woman reminded, at last regaining her voice. "Just as there are some things only your father can do, such as alchemy, there are some things only Lord Bernhard can do."

"Why is he special and I'm not?" The girl asked, her lips forming a slight pout. "I want to do the things Lord Walter can do!"

"No, I do not think so." The lady chuckled coyly.

Walter shook his head. Whilst giving the girl a patient look, he replied. "There are things you can do that I cannot."

"Like what?" The girl cocked her head. At last accepting that she could not escape, she fell still – her smaller form dangling in front of him like a doll.

"_Things_." He answered, the admission weighing on him, despite his feigned indifference. He extended his hand expectantly, watching the child reach into the pocket of her smock. With a displeased huff, the girl withdrew the small, furry paw and dropped it into his waiting hand.

The child's persistence made his lip twitch. When she spoke, his fingers clenched around the paw – nearly crushing it. "Oh! You don't like the sun, do you? Is that why the lady visits at night? Mama says I can't tan like papa. I hate sunburns; I got one once when papa sent me to pick stuff from the garden. I didn't feel very good after that. Papa put some weird smelly stuff on my face and arms to make it better. Maybe I could ask papa to give you some?"

"Unfortunately, there are some things not even your father can cure, child."

Unwilling to engage her further on the matter, he set her down and turned away. Though her perceptiveness impressed him, he could not afford to draw the alchemist's attention. Sir Gandolfi was no ordinary human. As he did not yet fully know the man's capabilities, discretion was necessary. He lowered his head and opened his hand. He gazed at the small, furry paw in contemplation. The lady's attachment to the girl was evident. He did not wish to cause the woman injury by harming the child. Knowing this, his throat tightened.

Detecting his unease, the lady turned to the door and motioned for the girl to follow. "It is time for us to depart, Justine. We have inconvenienced Lord Bernhard enough for one evening." Without objection, the girl hurried toward her, her light steps echoing through the room. When the child stopped before her, the lady smiled and kneeled, the skirt of her long, grey dress sweeping around her graceful figure whilst she said quietly. "Do you remember the bad men?"

"Yes, milady." The child slowly nodded. "They wanted to hurt us even though we didn't do anything to them."

Pausing a moment, the woman continued. "Yes, they did. There are some people who want to hurt Lord Bernhard, too."

"Why? Lord Walter is nice - he made the bad men go away!"

A soft, sad smile appeared upon the lady's face. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I know. These people are _very_ bad, though. They do not like the fact Lord Bernhard is different."

"I don't want Lord Walter to be hurt! That's not fair; he didn't do anything-"

"That is why Lord Bernhard lives here. If the bad people do not know he is special, he is safe. Will you help me keep him safe?"

"Yes, of course!" Justine nodded. Then, giving the woman an uncertain look, her voice lowered. "Is…Lord Armster one of the bad people, milady?"

The lady's smile faded. A look of mutual uncertainty appeared upon her face. "We best not tell him. He does not like Lord Bernhard as much as we do."

"Who are the bad people, then?" The child asked. "How can we keep Lord Walter safe if we don't know what they look like?"

The woman thought on her words a long moment. With a patient sigh, she straightened and ushered the child away. "Some people hide their true selves. They appear to be a friend but are actually very dangerous. That is why we must not reveal Lord Bernhard's secret to _anyone_."

"I won't tell!"

Walter silently followed them, his thoughts dwelling upon the woman's explanation. A chill swept through him, despite the laboratory's warmth. During their trek back, his monsters retreated from the hallways in which they wandered and into adjacent rooms and recesses. The lady allowed Pumpkin's squeaking form to hurry ahead, ensuring the way was clear before they proceeded onward. When a particularly slow zombie did not move as far away from the lady as the imp preferred, it lashed the wretch with its whip; sending it retreating into the shadows. Somewhat unnerved by the creature, Justine grasped the skirt of the lady's dress, observing the undead's rotting form as they passed in trepidation.

Unconvinced by the servant's retreat, she hurried back to him. "Lord Walter, can I walk with you?"

He glanced at the girl's paling expression and nodded. "If you prefer. I thought you enjoyed exploring?"

"I do…but…your servants are still kind of…scary." The girl's voice fell quiet.

When another zombie shambled around a corner, the girl recoiled. Her little hand grasped onto his and squeezed it. Uncertain what to do and unwilling to deny the child such a small favor, he remarked. "You are very brave to come here with the lady. My servants are…_different_, like me. They know not to harm you under my watchful eye."

"Maybe, but you aren't gross or smelly!" She observed, her candidness making him chuckle, despite himself.

Upon reaching the entranceway, Justine released his hand and hurried ahead of them. Though young, she was well aware when duty required her. While running through the castle's arched stone entryway, she called back. "I'll prepare Selene, milady!" Then, stopping suddenly at the threshold, she whirled. The child gave a modest bow, the strands of her dark blonde hair falling around her cheeks. "Thank you, Lord Walter. I'm sorry I took your dog paw. I promise I won't go off by myself again." Then, she hurried away, her cream-colored form disappearing into the night beyond.

Upon the child's leave, Walter shifted his attention to the lady. He gazed at her a moment, losing himself within her crystalline spheres. When she took notice of it, he reached into the pocket of his surcoat and withdrew a leather coin purse. While passing it to her, he whispered. "Give this to the child but refrain from telling her it is from me. As her mother does not trust me, I fear the woman may not accept it, despite their circumstances. Tell her it is from you."

Upon seeing the purse, the woman's eyes widened. "But, milord…you needn't feel obligated-"

The red-haired lord's lips formed a tiny smirk. "Of course not. I have no _obligation_ to humans, let alone a child."

"If that is so, why are you helping her?"

"Because, as you so often remind me, I can _choose_ to. I imagine, more funds shall be required. I will send it with you upon your next visit, provided the boy does not die, anyway."

The lady bowed, curtaining her smile behind the long, silky locks of her blonde hair. "Though they will not know, I have no doubt they would be grateful, if they did."

He gave her a dismissive look, his dark eyes glinting. "I do not require gratitude from anyone, let alone _humans_."

"Be that as it may, I am grateful." Then, drawing a breath, she added quietly. "Before I leave…I wish to extend an invitation from Lord Armster. My lord requests your company, should you wish to accept."

"I see." Walter's smirk broadened. Never one to turn down an opportunity for entertainment, he pressed his gloved fingers together and nodded. "Very well. I look forward to our meeting."

"I will let him know." She bowed her head. Her voice sounded unusually faint. "I am certain he will be delighted to hear it…" Then, forcing a smile, she turned toward the entryway, casting him a parting glance whilst she said. "Do _try_ not to kill him, this time, Lord Bernhard."

He chuckled, his voice softening whilst he replied. "I would not _dream_ of it, milady."

With a parting curtsy, she turned and followed the child into the night.

Upon her leave, he thought on her words, as well as her lord's unexpected invitation. The pale lord was an enigma not even he fully understood. He wanted to believe the man's invitation was purely coincidental, despite knowing otherwise.

The woman's concern for _him_ softened his anger. Thinking on her words, as well as the fate that may have befallen her and the child had the rogues been successful, his hands clenched into fists. Though Justine did not fully understand the woman's implication; he understood its importance. Barely conscious of it, his tall, imposing form paced back around the entrance hall. He was not accustomed to dwelling upon the past, for doing so served no purpose in the present. Yet, his mind unwillingly drifted to a dark part of himself he concealed from all – including himself. Pacing, he gritted his teeth.

Despite his confidence and power, he was once vulnerable. He could not remember how old he was, but his nativity, attractiveness, and bold red hair drew a gentleman's interest. The man was powerful and respected – things he longed for, and lacked, as a young boy. He had spent many evenings at the aristocrat's lavish residence, enjoying privileges only afforded to those of great influence. He remembered the human's long, dark hair and reassuring smile. Every time they met, he was bestowed gifts of fine clothing, jewelry and gold trinkets. He desired to learn how one achieved status and power through the man's mentorship.

Naivety made him unconscious of his mentor's subtle gestures. He overlooked the man's delicate caresses and his tendency to sit close during conversation. He ignored the subtle, ravenous gleam in the human's eyes during their many nights of conversation. Walter's hands balled into fists. The images slowly became clearer, despite his desire to abolish them. He remembered the dark, moonless night the man lured him into his chamber.

He _should_ have sensed the human's intent beforehand. He _should_ have refused.

He remembered the human's weight pressing against him, and the smooth, cold sheets on his skin. Fear and confusion rendered him immobile. He pictured the man's dark, silky hair splaying over him like a black veil. The man had torn off his clothing; the only thing shielding him from his dark will. Vaguely, he recalled the human's warm breath skimming his ear and the dull, throbbing pain when the man's fingernails dug into his back. Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, the human hunted _him. _

The man smothered him with his lips and tongue. He remembered his enraged silence as he was stroked and fondled like a doll. Hot, wet tears had threatened to break his passive façade, but he held his calm. Though he did not fully understand the violation, he understood that beneath the human's gentle mask, lay a monster more terrifying than any he had ever seen.

He could not remember the rest. He purposely blotted the scene out like spilled ink upon a piece of parchment, imprisoning it within the darkest part of his mind.

When the creature tried to leave him on the bed like a broken toy, he cast aside his human guise like the monster had, its. Vaguely, he remembered ripping the man's skin and flinging pieces across the room. He grasped the creature by its long, dark hair, and pulled it from its scalp. Images, suddenly vivid, of him tearing out his former mentor's spine overcame him. Blood spattered his body, dotting wet, red droplets across his flawless cheeks and chest. He was merely a child. Yet, the carnage he created attested he was far _more_. In that moment, he realized _his_ power. He had not been fully conscious of it, for he had inherited it through blood, rather than will. Terror filled him when he had tried to understand what he was and why the monster sought _him_, specifically. He remembered grieving the loss of innocence. It did not matter that he was merely a child when it happened. He brought it upon himself by falling prey to another's will.

Walter's lips formed a scowl. He brought a trembling hand to his brow.

He would never acknowledge that someone had once taken _his_ power.


	12. Passions

**Chapter 12**

Low, breathless moans drew his attention. He pressed his small, furry face against the window. As it was partially ajar, his large, sensitive ears swiveled in the direction of the sound. The lady was lying on her back on the bed. The skirt of her long, grey dress was hiked up to her hips. Her legs, bent at the knee, were spread slightly apart. The woman's hand rested between them. Though her dresses' numerous layers inhibited his view, her soft gasps and cries made his lips draw back into a sheepish grin. He noticed her hand moving under her skirt. Despite her hand's concealment, he could see its outline delicately stroking the pearl hidden beneath a shrewdly crafted façade of ladylike grace.

Female pleasure, it seemed, was locked away within the privacy of a bedchamber.

As she writhed on the bed, gasping and panting, he averted his gaze. He pictured himself opening the window, entering the room, and returning to human form atop her on the bed. Were she willing, he could reap untold bliss from her body. Since the night was young, he had plenty of time to demonstrate his talents. He imagined the sounds of her lustful moans as his tongue flicked and stroked her vulnerable womanhood. He would indulge upon her like caviar; meeting her every whim until she could scarcely breathe a word except his name.

Despite his yearning, he remained at the window. She seemed capable of satisfying her needs without his intervention, for now. Her quickening pants and gasps professed as much.

He wanted her to enjoy the freedom she experienced through pleasure. He liked the woman far too much to end her life, as habit inclined him to do after he was satisfied.

A loud knock on the door abruptly silenced her. With a frown, she pushed her skirt's many layers over her legs and sat up. When the knocking persisted, she leapt off the bed, picked up a brush on her night table, and ran it through her hair. She re-arranged the skirt of her dress; lifting and dropping it so her feet and legs were obscured beneath its many layers once again. The garment's long train flowed over the floor around her like silver water. Pale streams of moonlight reflected off the fabric; giving it a whitish color in the darkened room.

The fire in her chamber's large hearth had been allowed to die to embers. Remnants of dim orange light danced faintly across the stone walls. She looked at them a moment, drawn by their reassuring presence, before turning her attention to the door. Somewhat assured she had made herself presentable, she glided toward it and slowly opened it.

A gasp fled her lips, though it was one of an entirely different nature. "Milord!"

Lord Armster bowed his head. Despite being in a darkened hallway, his pale appearance contrasted the shadows surrounding him. The crusader's piercing sapphire eyes gleamed. Faint streams of moonlight shining through the chamber's large windows illuminated his ashen face.

As if a ghost had appeared at her door, the woman brought a hand to her mouth and stepped back.

"Good evening, milady." Giving her a somewhat confused look, he asked. "Are you alright? You look flushed. Perhaps, I should send for Sir Gandolfi-"

Her lips formed a hesitant smile. "No, I am quite well, milord. _Very_ well, in fact."

"I am glad to hear it. Forgive me for disturbing you. I thought you were crying."

"Crying?" She drew her head back, her smile broadening. Barely withholding the urge to laugh, she waved him away. "Oh, God no, milord. Far from it." Then, thinking a moment, she added. "Why are you here? My chamber is opposite the manor from yours."

A tint of red appeared in the man's cheeks. "I was passing by on my way to the solar for tea."

"Passing by?" She asked, cocking her head. "Isn't the solar closer to your chamber, milord?"

The man paused. "Well…yes, it is." He admitted. The redness in his cheeks brightened. After drawing a breath, he lifted his head, adjusted himself, and continued. "I was thinking we could go horseback riding or enjoy some music? I will never grow tired of hearing you play."

With a look of feigned disappointment, she replied graciously. "While I would love to, milord, Father Genesio is expecting me at confession this evening. As a good and devout Christian, I could not possibly miss something so important."

Lord Armster's smile faded. As if the woman's words were a cold wind that had scattered his hope like leaves, he sighed. "You needn't go tonight. I can tell him you will see him after I depart for the east."

"Are you suggesting I miss confession?" Her eyes widened. "Father Genesio would be _very_ displeased. Unless you want to be the one to recite thirty Hail Mary's, I would rather not subject myself to his temper. I did not expect _you_ would ever suggest such a thing."

"Why?" He smiled. "Just this once, milady. I am certain your soul will still find heaven, regardless. I have not laid eyes upon you all day. Though I requested your presence at breakfast this morning, the servants told me you already had it brought to your chamber."

"I was tired." She avoided looking at him. Instead, her attention focused on her hands, which fidgeted with the silver girdle secured around her hips. Small round sapphires encrusted the middle of the object's numerous spherical links, which hung around her waist and down the front of her dress. The girdle's polished silver reflected the moonlight. Detecting the lord's disappointment, she lifted her head. "Forgive my absence, Lord Armster."

"Surely," He noted, his exasperation audible. "Lord Bernhard could see you during the daytime, for once? All those nights stargazing must be exhausting."

The woman frowned. "While I appreciate your concern, I find the lateness of our visits inconsequential. Lord Bernhard prefers the evening, and I do not wish to inconvenience him."

"Of course, you wouldn't inconvenience _him_." Lord Armster snipped. Then, as if regretting his impatience, he gave her an apologetic look. "I mean – I understand, milady." He bowed his head. Tendrils of long, sleek hair cascaded around his smooth face. His fine, pale lips lifted into a polite smile. "May I come in? The hallway is not ideal for private conversation, Lady Rohesia." He gave her an expectant look.

Seemingly wanting to avoid displeasing him, she nodded. "You are the master of this house, milord. If you wish to enter, I will not refuse."

Without a backward glance, she retreated from the door. Her grey-clad form approached the bed. Like a bird returning to its perch, she sat down upon the feather-stuffed mattress.

Lord Armster stepped inside and closed the door. Upon hearing the handle click, her frame tensed.

As the crusader walked into the room, his attention averted to the large hearth opposite the bed. Frowning, he approached it and gave the embers a disapproving look, as if his unspoken displeasure could rekindle them.

"I apologize for the state of your hearth, milady." He bowed once again. When he bent forward, long stands of milk-white hair fell around his face and shoulders like a satin waterfall. "I shall have a servant attend to it at once. Evidently, if I do not scold them, they assume there is no work to be done."

The lady shook her head. "I was going to leave for confession, anyway. I am sure Anneliese will have it alight again upon my return."

He turned to face her once again, his silver armor gleaming in the moonlight. A faint tinge of red from the dying flames in the hearth behind him cast a dull glow around his frame. Despite wearing armor, he moved with little difficulty. So long had the crusader worn armor that it had become like a second skin.

"Where is the child tonight?" He asked tersely, feigning interest, despite his obvious disdain. "The little brat follows you _everywhere_."

"You mean _Justine_?" With a concerned look, she continued. "The child's infant sibling has fallen gravely ill. I told her she could spend the evening with her family. Her mother is exhausted and needs reprieve from his care."

"I did not give the child permission to leave." The pale nobleman answered, his coldness prompting her to rise from her seat on the bed. "If I gave every person under my command the evening off when they asked, no one would be left to protect the damn Holy Land!"

The lady folded her arms across her chest and glared. Ignoring the man's icy look, she replied. "Anneliese will assume the child's duties this evening. I do not mind."

"Well, I do." When she continued glaring at him, a low dry chuckle sounded from his throat. The coldness in his eyes receded. "But as I have no time for children, and this is your wish, I will speak no further on it." He paused. His lips formed a modest smile. "Soon, I shall give you your own children to mind, Arabella."

Her grey-blue eyes widened.

When she gave no reply, he explained delicately. "I must go back to the east for a month, possibly two. We will marry upon my return home. I cannot describe the joy I will feel the day I can call you my _wife_."

"Nor can I describe the sorrow I will feel, should that day come." She sighed.

Walter's fur-covered form bristled. Incensed by the pale nobleman's audacity, he flapped his large, papery wings and withheld the urge to laugh. The lady's sorrowful expression drew his attention. Though many things were of no concern to him, _she_ was. Somewhat stunned by the unanticipated emotion, the red-haired lord's lip twitched. Uncertain what to do, his dark, tiny eyes watched the pale lord edge closer to her.

The coldness in Lord Armster's voice softened. "One day, you will feel as strongly for me as I do, for you. Everything I have shall be yours."

The lady shook her head, curtaining her displeasure behind the locks of her long, honey colored hair. "I do not want it."

"We must all leave home one day." He replied softly.

"No, not all of us. This is _your_ home. Your family has lived here for generations."

"Only my _uncle_." With an amused, though somewhat bitter scoff, he added gently. "Like you, when I came to live here as a boy, I hated it. The winters were cold and brutal; the summers hot and stifling. I eventually realized far greater hardship awaited me in the east. It did not take long for this place to become my home."

"My home is in _England_ with my _family_." She said determinedly.

Lord Armster sighed and wrung his hands. Tendrils of long white hair fell around his paling face. "I know…and I will do all I can to help you feel comfortable here, Arabella."

The injury in his eyes gave her pause. She looked him up and down; her pale eyes tracing his silvery white form. Now, fully repaired and refinished, his polished silver and gold-trimmed breastplate shone in the dim firelight. The man's armor was so immaculate her image reflected within its flawless surface. They stared at one another; her silence prompting him to speak once more.

While he spoke, his fingers anxiously fidgeted at his side. "When you embraced me the night you were abducted, you called me _my love_."

"I did?" Her eyes widened. Amazed and dismayed by his remembrance, her lips pursed. "Forgive me, milord, but I do not remember it. A lot happened that evening, most of which I would rather forget."

Before she could continue, he added. "I heard it clearly. No one has ever called me that before."

"Surely, that is untrue." She chuckled, her gaze once again averting to her gridle, as if willing the decorative object's distraction. "I imagine, the women of the east have called you _many_ things. I know what men seek when duty summons them away."

Lord Armster's voice lowered to a whisper. "Do you?" All at once, the severity in his expression dissolved into shame. "I have not sought pleasure since meeting you. Even before then, I-"

Smirking, she rolled her eyes. "Please, spare me the details."

Lord Armster held up a trembling hand. "Like most men of war, I sought comfort where I could find it." He paused; the intensity of his gaze prompting her to look at him once again. Now, certain he had her full attention, he continued. "But I only found it in you. No one made me laugh as hard as you did the day we met. During the baptism, the priest gave me a look that would have made hell itself freeze over. I cared not, for I had never felt happiness until then."

"I think I made a remark about the baroness' strange hat." She mused, her smirk broadening. "It had so many feathers she looked like a chicken standing there, fretting endlessly over her child, whilst the priest tried to pour the water on his head. She got in the way so many times, the man's face was as red as Baron Belmont's cloak by the end of it."

Lord Armster laughed. So rarely did he exhibit delight that silence overcame her. "Oh yes, I remember, now!" He shook his head. "She looked like she was going to a costume party instead of her son's baptism. I don't understand how Baron Belmont let her leave the house that day."

"Oh, come now, you know he would not _dare_ say a word." She replied.

He laughed again, the rare sound eliciting her smile. "I thought the day would drag on forever but after meeting you, it ended far too soon. We talked for _hours_. Before then, I had not spoken with a woman for more than ten minutes."

She looked up at his ashen face. Unease quickly shadowed her amusement. "I suppose, I may have called you…_my love_." She admitted. "I was trying to ease your duress. Please do not interpret my intentions as anything more, Zaviean."

While gazing at her lovely face, Lord Armster's gauntlet-encased hands balled into fists. A low, barely audible grinding sound filled the silence that followed. The man's voice became faint. "I know you do not mean that, Arabella. I heard the tenderness in your voice when you said it."

She gave him an apologetic look. "I was concerned for you. That is all."

"As I was concerned for you, my love." The man's hands began trembling, causing the grinding sound to intensify.

"If that is true," She mused, ignoring his agitation. "You will not discourage me from attending confession tonight. My mind and soul are troubled and I have much to discuss with Father Genesio-"

"You mean, you have much to discuss with me." Whilst giving her a knowing look, he stepped closer and removed his gauntlets. After tossing the heavy steel encasements onto the floor at his feet, his voice lowered. "You know God does not approve of self-pollution, Arabella. I heard you through the door."

"You asked if I was crying!" She snapped. "What I do in _my_ bedchamber is none of your-"

"I know your sin." He replied, unhindered by her rage. Giving her a tender look, he lifted his hand and touched her cheek. Tendrils of long, straight white hair fell around his face as he leaned closer. "And though I should chastise you…I will not."

"How _kind_ of you, milord." She answered sarcastically. "May you think on that when your return to the east, lying _alone_ in your cot at night, with only your hand for comfort."

With as much subtly as he could, he slowly wrapped his arm around her waist. As if his touch had turned her into a doll, her body stiffened in response. She stared at him unblinkingly; her eyes widening as he guided her into his arms. His pale, white hand skimmed the decorative girdle around her hips and delicately began to unfasten the hook securing it. His face lowered close to hers. His smooth, regal face gazed down at her as if fearful she would suddenly vanish.

Walter snorted. Though confident in battle, women were a completely different matter. One had to win both the battle _and_ the war to succeed with the fairer sex.

Silence overcame her as Lord Armster's fingers pried the object away. The decorative belt fell onto the floor with a metallic-sounding thump. His voice died to a whisper. "Before _that_," He replied. "Perhaps we could…enjoy a passionate evening together?" His steely, dark blue eyes stared as if to swallow her words within them. When she continued staring at him in astonishment, a visible tint of red appeared within his once ivory cheeks. His lips formed a nervous smile. "You know as well as I the expectations that come with marriage. Though my appearance is unconventional, I am a man like any other. I would treat you gently, as a man should. Perhaps, we could better understand one another through intimacy. I have never spent a night with another…and would give anything…" He bowed his head, his face growing redder and redder each passing moment.

For the first time, Lord Armster's entire face become a color other than stark white.

The lady scoffed. "A _passionate_ evening?" She laughed dryly, her voice rising an octave. "Of course, pleasure is only acceptable if it is on _your_ terms. I thought you wanted me to be chaste on our wedding night?"

Lord Armster ran a trembling hand through his hair. "Though that is what God asks, that is not necessarily what I desire."

"What do you desire then?" She glared.

His dark sapphire eyes met hers. With as much tenderness as he seemed capable of, he gently caressed her cheek. His unexpected gesture prompted her to fall still. "I desire…to know your love, Arabella. As we are both pure, and destined to wed, God will surely forgive us for giving into passion. If I die on the battlefield, I want it to be knowing I held you in my arms - even just once."

The red-haired lord chortled; his lips parting to reveal his needle-like teeth and fangs. As he expected, the man's desperate sentimentality failed to impress him. Lady Rohesia's expressionless look revealed the same. Walter covered his mouth with his wing; barely stifling a laugh. Not even his wildest imaginations could have predicted the events of that evening. Had he not despised the pale lord so greatly, he may have pitied him.

Before she could utter a word, Lord Armster drew a quavering breath. Throwing caution to the wind, he covered her lips in a deep, heavy kiss. The man's unexpectedness took her off-guard. Upon hearing her stifled cry, he abruptly released her.

The woman wrenched herself from his embrace. With a glare, she stepped back. She lifted her head and held it high; her lips curling.

A mixture of embarrassment and contempt reflected in her spheres as she hissed. "Despite loving me, you refuse to give me the only thing I want – my family!"

The crusader's fragile composure crumbled. Nearly spitting in rage, he wrung his hands, the bitterness in his voice like poison. "And _you_ refuse to give me the only thing I want – _your love_. I have fought for you, nearly died for you, and given you _everything_! Now, when I try to give you the only thing I have left – _myself_ – you rebuke me! I care not what the church says about a woman's chastity! You will always be pure and beautiful to me, no matter what they-"

"It is not because I am afraid of ruin." She paused. Drawing a breath, she whispered. "I am afraid of you."

Streams of dim moonlight spilled across his face, illuminating his stricken expression. "Afraid of _me_?" He gasped. "The monster that took you is worthier of your fear, not I! I _saved_ you-"

"You saved me for _yourself_." She snapped. "I would have rather been left to die, than live to be your wife!"

"Am I truly so wretched?" He looked at her somberly. As if her words were daggers to his heart, his head lowered. Curtains of silky white hair fell around his face; veiling the coldness returning to his eyes when he said. "Like a siren, _you_ lured me with your womanly beauty, voice and charm. You claim I cage you, when in fact, you came here _of your own accord_!" His voice trembled. "You taunt me with your cruel rejections and sinful books! Though I long for you, you seduce and mock me with the sounds of your illicit ecstasy! It is _you_ who cages _me_, Arabella!"

"If that is so, release me then!" She yelled, "Or am I to blame for your cruelty as well, Zaviean?"

"You will stay." He hissed, his icy reply destroying her hope. When she stared at him in stunned silence, his lips formed a slow, scornful smile. "I will be patient, as God asks, even though your words injure me."

"That is nothing compared to the lifetime of injury you will cause me!" Without looking at him, she stormed to the door, her long, golden hair flying behind her as she went. "Though you keep me from my family, not even _you_ can keep me from God, Lord Armster. I am going to confession. Go find the companionship you seek at a whorehouse, for you will not find it from me!"

Lord Armster's mouth fell agape. Spurred by her words, he stormed after her, his voice rising as if to annihilate her then and there. "I did not say you could-"

Before Lord Armster could finish, the red-haired lord flew from his perch on the windowsill. Having had enough of the white-haired nobleman for one evening, he dove toward the window's glass surface and slammed his smaller form against it. Had he wanted to, he could have easily shattered the glass – and the nobleman – with little effort. The sudden noise made the nobleman instinctively draw his sword.

As soon as Lord Armster's attention averted to the window, she hurried to the door.

By the time he turned to face her again, she was gone.

* * *

Walter waited for her by a well along the road to the manor.

The woman's petite silver mare trotted swiftly along, its long mane and tail flagged in the wind. Her face was uncharacteristically pale. As it was somewhat chilly that evening, a dark grey cloak trimmed with white rabbit fur covered her back and shoulders. She shifted uncomfortably under it, her frown revealing her dislike for its cumbersome weight. Then, sighting the red-haired lord atop his horse, she smiled.

He bowed his head; his expressions softening the moment she looked at him. Against his judgement, he returned her smile. Though he did not fully understand why, her presence delighted him. Her obstinacy, though somewhat challenging, proved useful against Lord Armster – as well as himself.

She guided her mare closer. Sensing his presence, the equine raised its head. The creature's finely tipped ears swiveled backward. "Do not be afraid, Selene." She gently patted the mare's neck. Whilst whispering reassurances in its ear, it reluctantly continued onward - its smaller frame contrasting the red-haired lord's much larger and taller beast.

"Good evening, Lord Bernhard. Out for another evening stroll?" She asked.

He shrugged; a low, knowing chuckle vibrating from his throat. "Good evening, milady. What a delight that you should come along at this precise moment. I hope you are well?"

"I am now, thanks to you."

Feigning confusion, he raised an eyebrow. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

"I know t'was you." She replied, giving him a knowing look.

"What are you talking-"

"Come now, I am not _that_ naïve!" She laughed. Her approval took the red-haired lord by surprise. "A giant bat flying into my window in the middle of the night is no coincidence. Tell me though, what is it like to be a bat? Were you busy catching bugs before you came?"

His brow furrowed. "Absolutely not."

"You know," She added, chuckling. "If you wanted to see me, you could simply tell me, rather than flying into my window. You gave Lord Armster quite a fright." With a shrewd smile, she clicked her tongue and urged her mare back into a trot. Walter followed suit and guided his horse beside hers. The moment she noticed him looking at her, he averted his gaze. Pulling gently on the reins, she slowed her mare to a walk.

As soon as she looked away, the red-haired lord's gaze returned to her. Thinking on her words, Walter smirked. "Do not assume I came to see _you_," he retorted. "Lord Armster requested my presence. I considered meeting him tonight, until other _circumstances_ changed my mind."

Her smile faded. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head, curtaining her sorrow behind the locks of her long, straight hair. "Lord Armster is in a foul mood tonight."

"Isn't he always?" The red-haired lord chuckled. His eyes narrowed. Taking swift notice of her pain, he added delicately. "But you needn't be. The night is at your pleasure and so, too, am I."

"What do _you_ know of _pleasure_?" Looking over her shoulder at him, she rolled her eyes. As if in agreement, the woman's mare snorted and flicked its tail. "I think I have had enough for one evening."

Detecting her cheek, he leaned toward her on his horse. Coiled locks of rich crimson hair, caught by the wind, brushed against his smooth face. After a deliberate pause, he answered. "I know far more than your lord. Judging by his lack of skill, I doubt he could find a woman's _nymph_ if he tried, let alone how to coax it _correctly_."

"Of course, _you_ know better." She remarked, a look of feigned astonishment appearing on her face. "I hope you are not all _talk_, Lord Bernhard."

"I would ask my past companions for a review, but as they unfortunately _ceased to b_e afterwards, I am afraid that is impossible."

The woman's eyes widened. "Ceased to be?" She repeated, her lips forming a frown. "God help them if the last thing they saw was _you_!"

His smirked broadened. "As they are surely in heaven, it seems He did."

"And were you to show _me_ such pleasures," she asked, her voice softening. "Would I follow their fate, too?"

Silence overcame him. He averted his attention to the path ahead. Barely conscious of the emotion overcoming him, his smirk slowly faded. "I am certain Father Genesio would rather see you as you are, instead of as a corpse."

"Considering how bored people are at mass, I don't think he would know the difference."

He laughed.

* * *

Walter followed her inside the church. Though the sights of crosses, angels, and holy scriptures offended him, his desire to remain in her company overcame his aversion of God. He looked around the sanctuary, observing its columned archways, stained glass windows, statues, and altar.

As he expected, Father Genesio awaited them. Unwilling to acknowledge the man, the red-haired lord sat down in a nearby pew. With a bored sigh, he leaned back, lifted his feet, and propped them up on the pew in front of him. The smell of incense overwhelmed him. He wondered why men of God insisted on waving the stuff around like old perfume.

The moment her grey form appeared; the priest's lips lifted into a broad, gleeful smile. "Ah, Lady Rohesia." Cupping his hands in front of him, he bowed his head. Having just finished the evening sacrament, the priest carefully lit newly waxed candles lining the altar; casting the dimly lit space in a warm, soft glow. Shadows danced across the walls and cast the statues of angels, the Virgin, and Christ's disciples lining the space in their gloomy light.

After muttering a prayer at the altar, the man turned to greet her, his long, black cassock swaying with his leisurely steps. His naturally questioning tone tinged with subtle enthusiasm. "Back for confession, like a good Christian, I see. I look forward to forgiving you for your sins."

"You, Father?" The woman paused in the middle of the cathedral's maroon-carpeted aisle. Then, nearly forgetting herself, she mechanically signed the cross. When the priest nodded in approval, she continued. "Is it not through God that forgiveness is offered?"

The priest's eyes widened. Somewhat taken aback by her remark, he replied resolutely. "God and I are one in the same during confession." With a pleased grin, he waved for her to approach. "Now, you must not keep _anything_ from me, Lady Rohesia. God knows when your heart withholds your sins – as will I."

"Of course." Dim candlelight flickered across her face; casting her in half-shadow. She lowered her head, hiding her smile as she said. "My mind is full of impure thoughts once again, Father."

"What is the _nature_ of these thoughts?" When he came before her, he reached for the wooden cross around his neck and twiddled the object in his fingers, like a bored child with a toy. He raised his head, holding it high, and gave the woman a scrutinizing look. "If you are repentant, I shall listen and forgive." Then, taking notice of the red-haired lord in the pew, the priest's smile abruptly faded. Upon sighting the man's feet propped on the pew in front, his terse voice echoed across the sanctuary. "I see Lady Rohesia did not come _unaccompanied _once again. Have you come to confess, at last?"

The red-haired lord shook his head. "I have nothing to confess, priest."

"Surely," The priest remarked delicately, gesturing grandly to the cross above the altar. "There is _something_, Lord Bernhard? God forgives all…even you. _Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool_."

Walter smirked. "Scarlet is my favorite color and wool is far too itchy for my liking." Chuckling under his breath, he brushed aside the coils of his lush, red hair. "Like a citizen of Sodom, I await God's judgement."

"You need not await God's judgment, for you have _mine_." Drawing a breath, he added. "Please remove your boots from that pew, Lord Bernhard."

"God is far too busy to care about _my_ boots, priest." Then, giving the man's polished boots a deliberate glance, he added. "Though it seems, not yours."

"Well, as God's servant," The priest retorted, his voice beginning to quaver, somewhat. "I represent the Lord. Thus, I must take care to ensure my image – I mean _His_ – is well cared for. Cardinal Michael is scheduled to visit a few months from hence. As it says in the Book of James, '_Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded._' Cleanliness is very important."

"As is confession, it seems." Walter returned the man's scorn with sarcastic smile. "Alas, the only thing I shall confess is my dire need for a drink." He rose from the pew and sauntered down the aisle; giving the stature of an apostle a scathing look. Without so much as glancing at the priest as he passed, he ascended the altar - not bothering to bow at the cross beforehand – and rummaged through the bottles of wine lining the shelves behind it. Though he disliked consecrated spaces, not even God Himself could banish one such as he. Whilst his gloved fingers danced across the wine bottles arranged upon the shelf, he muttered. "Do you have any wine that has not been blessed?"

"The blood of Christ is not for the unbaptized, child." After drawing another deep breath, the priest forced a patient smile. "God's house is not a tavern. The only wine you shall find here is for the devout at communion-"

"Ah, here it is." Reaching into the back of the shelf, somewhat well-hidden behind the rest, he withdrew a large unlabeled bottle. "This shall do." Like one flicking away an annoying fly, the red-haired lord gave the priest a deliberate glance before taking a long, slow swig. Then, turning to the altar behind him, he set the unconsecrated bottle deliberately upon it. "At least you have decent taste." After swirling the wine in his mouth, he smirked. "Tis' a Malbec, of course. Dry, full-bodied and rich…with fruit and oak notes. The perfect accompaniment to a satisfying meal, of which I have enjoyed many. As dark and red as the blood of a thousand holy men."

Nearly speechless, the man's eyes widened. "T-That was my _private_ stock."

Unwilling to listen to the two further, the lady marched to the confessional and swung the door open. "Speaking of private, Father, there are matters I must speak with you about. Please pay Lord Bernhard no mind."

Giving the red-haired lord a disapproving look, the priest shook his head. "I shall not ignore the fact one of God's sheep hath strayed from His flock, child."

"You dare compare me to a _sheep_?" Walter's brow furrowed. Disliking the fact the man, whom was far younger than he referred to _him_ as a 'child,' he snorted. "You are mistaken. I enjoy consuming God's sheep, as you call them, with a side of mint chutney. I prefer the kind your beloved Virgin is depicted holding so tenderly, before the church drags them to the slaughter-"

"God's wounds, shut up!" The woman shouted across the sanctuary. Realizing her error, she covered her mouth with her hand. "Well, I suppose you may as well add that to my list of confessions, Father Genesio…"

"You shall repent for your wicked tongue, Lady Rohesia." The priest frowned. "And so, too, shall he. I will pray, Lord Bernhard, that God does not condemn your soul to eternal damnation."

With a nonchalant shrug, the red-haired lord leaned against the altar. "If it means not listening to you, I shall be glad of it." Candlelight danced across his pale face. Walter's dark, glinting eyes focused upon the man with cold indifference. "Unlike you, priest, God will not condemn me for quite some time."

The woman glared at him. With a frustrated sigh, her hands balled into fists. "Perhaps not," She seethed. "If God is as tired of your arrogance as I am, I can hardly blame Him! God's nails, arms, face, mouth, rump and-"

"Lady Rohesia!" The priest snipped. "Off to confession with you, at once!" The man barked, gesturing wildly to the confessional booth. The large, wooden booth awaited her like the ominous lair of a beast.

"Thank the Lord!" The woman exclaimed. "My impure thoughts are too much to bear, Father."

"I am certain he is _more_ than willing to relieve you of that burden, milady." The red-haired lord grinned. "As am I, after hearing your wanton _singing_, earlier this evening…"

With gasp, the woman glared. Her fair face turned a shade almost as crimson as the lord's hair. "Unfortunately, you shall only _hear_, rather than _know_ it, Lord Bernhard."

"Lady Rohesia!" The priest shouted, his lips contorting into a furious scowl. "This conversation is unfit for God's ears!"

"Though fit for yours, it seems." The red-haired lord huffed.

"Silence!" Nearly shoving the woman into the confession booth, the priest slammed the door shut and stomped around the other side. Whilst flinging the door to his side of the confessional open, he muttered. "_For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world._"

Lady Rohesia's voice sounded from within. "What is the point of confessing in here?" She asked, "You already saw me. Why can't we just-"

"Confession is a _private_ affair, Lady Rohesia." The priest snapped, giving the red-haired lord a disapproving glare. "Self-indulgence – whether it be of your body or other earthly desires – is a sin. To earn God's forgiveness, you shall tell me _every_ detail."

Though the confessional muffled their voices, his superior hearing enabled him to discern their words with little difficulty. Pretending to ignore them, the red-haired lord took another swig of wine and glided back to his pew. Whilst he sat down, he overheard Lady Rohesia address the priest.

"Before we begin, Father, I must ask something of you."

"What is it?" The priest replied, his impatience evident, despite his effort to conceal it. "You and that Lord Bernhard have wasted enough of my time as it is. Not to mention, that sinner took my favorite wine, which I was saving for Cardinal Michael's visit."

"I do apologize for my visitor, and for any rudeness on my part," She said, the lack of sincerity in her voice evident. "What of my sister's letter?" The woman looked earnestly at the screen partition separating her and the priest. "Did you get it to her, as you promised you would? It has been almost two months and I have heard not a word."

"_But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently_." Tutted the priest. Upon hearing her sigh, he continued. "I thought on your request, Lady Rohesia."

"What do you mean, you _thought_ on it, Father?" She asked, her voice quavering. "You promised you would help. You know Lord Armster has no right to my hand. What of that pilgrimage we discussed? Surely, you could send me to my sister's estate in Hallingdal-"

"No, no, I think not." The priest replied, his voice maintaining a tone of feigned congeniality. "Deceitfulness is a sin, Lady Rohesia. I revealed the letter to your betrothed so he can determine a suitable resolution. Have you tried talking to Lord Armster about your concerns?"

"I have _nothing_ to say to him!" Nearly shouting, she bolted from her seat, her eyes widening in fury. "I came here to visit Lord Armster, not become his goddamn _wife_! That letter was intended for my sister! Now, he surely knows about my efforts to seek refuge with her!"

"_It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in humans_." The priest chuckled dryly, his voice rising with equal fury. "You best control your temper in my presence – and your language."

"Of course." She snapped. "I should have known not to trust something so important to you, Father! All I want is to return to my family!"

"If you do not wish to marry Lord Armster, I could arrange for Sister Teresita to find a place for you at the nunnery in Norfolk? Perhaps, devoting yourself to God will cleanse your impure thoughts once and for all. You could return to England, then."

"What?" The woman gasped; her rage filling the confessional like rain in a storm. "Are you suggesting my only option is to become a _nun_?"

"Watch your tone, milady! It is the only option I can see to lead you away from a life of sin and damnation." The priest replied. "Though I think you shall learn to love Lord Armster, I shall not force you to marry him. However, I cannot council you to consort with men like that red-haired blasphemer. I fear...no, I know, that he will lead you to an early grave. You can choose a life of virtue and peace, foolish girl, or you can choose to continue this troublesome situation you have made for yourself."

"Go to hell!" As if she had been locked in the confessional, she slammed her hand against the screen. Trembling in rage, she shouted. "You know nothing about Lord Bernhard – or me, Father!"

Father Genesio adjusted himself within the confessional. Whilst brushing the winkles from his cassock, he shook his head. As if speaking to a petulant child, he snipped insistently. "As you are undoubtedly aware, your father hath accepted Lord Armster's proposal and already sent him your dowry. Lord Armster may allow you to return to Canterbury as his wife. Remember, as the Lord said, _'An excellent wife is the crown of her husband, but she who brings shame is like rottenness in his bones_.'"

"I am no one's crown, Father!" The woman snapped. "The church's wars hath made him rotten, not I."

"You will hold your blasphemous tongue-"

"As God gave me this tongue, I shall not apologize for using it! I have nothing further to confess to _you_." With a loud shout, she flung the confessional door open and stepped out. Upon sighting the red-haired lord, she bowed her head. "Bless me Lord Bernhard, for I have sinned."

Walter smirked. Flicking his cape, he rose from the pew and swept toward her, taking swift notice of her grieved expression. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he cupped her face in his gloved hand. He tilted her head up; his dark, penetrating eyes contrasting her clear, blue ones. "How long has it been since your last confession?" He asked softly.

"About…ten seconds, milord." Returning his smile, she rested her hands upon his.

Before he could reply, Father Genesio flung the door to his confessional open and stormed out. "Only _I_ can forgive you, Lady Rohesia, not that sinner-"

Ignoring the man's shouts, the woman shook her head, curtaining her amusement behind the locks of her long, golden hair. Whilst gazing up at the red-haired lord's ashen visage, she whispered. "We are all sinners, Father. Yet, I ask for forgiveness for my temper, earlier. I swore…so many times I cannot remember. Alas, what I can remember though, is pleasuring myself three times this evening before confession."

"You did _what_?" The priest's mouth fell agape. "Get back in that confessional, Lady Rohesia, before I-"

"I shall confess, _here_." Without looking at the man, she raised her head. "I touched myself in places no lady would dare; knowing the pleasure it would reap from my body…and I enjoyed _every_ moment of it!"

"Is that all?" The red-haired lord asked, his voice dripping with excitement.

After pausing a long moment, she shook her head. "I pleasured myself to the image of a red-haired devil - not my betrothed."

Feigning indifference, Walter's smirk broadened. "As you should, milady."

"Lady Rohesia!" The priest screeched, nearly tripping over his cassock and he scrambled forth. "You shall not speak this filth in God's house!"

"Why is desire filthy, Father?" The woman looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. "Alas, that is all I wish to confess tonight. Are you certain Lord Armster wishes to marry a lustful sinner? As you undoubtedly share everything with him anyway, tell him I will pleasure myself every evening from hence, if only to ensure my soul is well-sullied before he doth consign my desires to the marriage bed."

Fuming, the priest pointed his index finger at her, his voice rising to meet hers. "Perhaps, I shall tell Lord Armster to lock your womanhood in a chastity belt?"

"Go right ahead, Father." She rolled her eyes. "Such a thing would protect me from Lord Armster, more than anyone else."

Without a backward glance, she stormed out.


	13. Audience

**Chapter 13**

Upon arriving at the manor, the carrot-haired servant admitted him inside. When she bowed her head, her thick French braid swept across her shoulder. Her soft pink lips lifted into a warm smile. "Good evening, Lord Bernhard. My lord and lady are expecting you. I shall let them know you have arrived. Please, follow me."

As she turned around, his discerning eye noticed something different about her. Walter studied her a moment – noting that her frame had changed somewhat. Though her dress and apron's thick fabric concealed it initially, her abdomen revealed a very slight bump. The moment he saw it, he listened carefully amidst the silence surrounding them. A heartbeat, separate from the woman's, thumped.

With a wry smile, he observed quietly. "It seems your lord and lady are not the only ones expecting."

The woman whirled to face him, her face flushing whilst she stammered. "H-how did you know, Lord Bernhard? I-I did not think I was showing, yet..."

Walter flicked his hand, his smile broadening as he answered enigmatically. "Intuition." Then, pausing a moment, he remarked under his breath. "I hope your lord understands…"

"I am married, Lord Bernhard; my child is legitimate." She replied, her voice twinging with slight offence despite her cordiality. "Lady Rohesia is aware and assured my continued employment. As she will marry soon, Lord Armster will require a wet nurse when she bears his children. Almost everyone knows Lord Armster is in desperate need of an heir."

The red-haired lord's smile abruptly faded. A crimson flicker flashed within his obscure eyes. With a low huff, he looked away, his voice lowering. "Of course."

"Are you well, Lord Bernhard?" She asked. The woman's green eyes filled with concern. "You look…_paler_ than I remember."

"I am quite well, thank you." He gave a polite smile.

When he stared at her expectantly – his silence bringing an abrupt end to their conversation - she bowed her head and ushered for him to follow. She led him past the manor's grand staircase to a large room on the opposite side of the main floor. Before opening the door, the servant knocked on it hesitantly. Then, drawing a breath, she admitted herself inside. He watched the woman bow before the room's occupants. Her subdued voice filled the silence. "Milord – and milady – Lord Bernhard has arrived."

Lord Armster's taciturn voice answered. "Send him in."

The woman bowed again in acknowledgement, avoiding eye contact as she hurried back to the door.

Upon returning to him, her voice fell quiet. "Lord Armster will see you now, Lord Bernhard."

Walter emerged from the shadow-cloaked hall like a specter. As he swept into the room, his eyes sought Lady Rohesia. She was seated in a luxurious dark blue armchair by the hearth; her head lowered. At first, he did not know why, until he noticed that her eyes and hands were focused upon her needlepoint. He watched her methodically thread her needle through a piece of canvas fabric draped across her lap.

Lord Armster was seated in the chair across from hers. The man's long white hair framed his pale face. One of his hands held a white porcelain saucer, whilst the other lightly clutched the handle of its matching teacup. His silver armor gleamed in the light of the crackling flames. Without looking at his visitor, he lifted the cup and took a small sip. His dark blue eyes were locked upon the woman; attempting to draw her attention with their intensity. When she did not look up, he sighed. The audible sound prompted her to lift her head.

Instead of looking at him, her gaze fell upon the red-haired lord standing in the room. She set her needlepoint down and stood up.

The moment their eyes met, she greeted him with a warm smile. "Good evening, Lord Bernhard."

Her soft, cheerful tone drew the white-haired lord's gaze. Then, as if only just remembering he had requested the other lord's presence, he gave a stiff nod. His sapphire colored eyes focused upon the other lord with cold indifference. "Lord Bernhard." The pale nobleman remained in his chair. His ashen lips formed a scowl as he took another sip of tea.

Catching the crusader's displeasure, Walter returned the woman's smile. He swept a deep bow and pressed her delicate hand to his lips. "Good evening, milady." His eyes flitted to Lord Armster, noting the man's silent disapproval before returning to her once again. "I did not know you enjoyed needlepoint?"

"I don't." She replied, her voice faltering somewhat when the pale nobleman's brow furrowed at her candidness. "I mostly do it to pass the time. Unfortunately, I have not practiced much."

"Perhaps," Lord Armster interjected, the coldness in his voice at last drawing her attention. "You could practice more if you stayed _here_ in the evenings, instead of galivanting to Lord Bernhard's castle to stargaze or _whatever_ it is you _do_ there…"

Lady Rohesia's smile broadened. With a shrug, she went to the small table beside her chair and plucked the canvas off it. "Perhaps." She replied coolly, her pale eyes glaring at Lord Armster's austere expression. "I prefer stargazing instead. I would ask you to accompany me, if I did not know better."

The white-haired lord set the cup and saucer down on the table next to him, muttering under his breath. "You have a lovely smile; it conceals your sullenness perfectly."

Before she could retort, Walter politely interjected – his deep, resonant voice drawing their attention. "I am certain the lady is being modest about her needlepoint."

Lady Rohesia shook her head. Then, like one unveiling a prized work of art, she picked up the canvas and held it up. Walter's eyes widened. It was quite possibly the ugliest example of needlework he had ever seen. He could not discern if she was creating a flower, rainbow, or a waterfall, for the stitch lines were uneven and crooked. He wondered if she had chosen the yarn blindfolded or if was deliberate. Her expression revealed nothing.

After drawing a breath, he replied delicately. "Well….one cannot be good at everything, can they?"

A momentary silence passed before the lady burst into laughter, her eyes brightening at his graciousness. "That is true!" She exclaimed, her good-humored response eliciting a chuckle from the red-haired lord's throat. "I do not even know what it is supposed to _be_! I think it was supposed to be a house – or maybe a river? I cannot remember!" She threw the canvas onto the table by her chair. "If you think this is wretched, you should see my paintings…"

Walter's eyes glinted at her lifted mood. "I think what you have shown is sufficient, milady."

With a low huff, Lord Armster bolted from his chair, his eyes blazing as he marched to the table. His pale hand snatched the canvas off it; his cold, unforgiving gaze resting upon Walter's smirking expression. "Why are you mocking her?" He snapped, his harshness silencing her laughter. "I like it."

"Milord!" Her once joyful expression fell away into irritation. "Lord Bernhard and I are merely sharing a laugh. If he wanted to insult me, I would know it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The white-haired lord snipped humorlessly. "Do you honestly believe you _know_ this man? I wonder what _else_ you have shared together in my absence."

"What are you talking about?" Without looking at the man, her grey form stormed from his prying gaze. "If you like it so much, keep it - it matches you perfectly."

Sensing the woman's escalating temper, Walter slowly approached, his calm voice drawing their attention once again. "Perhaps, Lord Armster can explain why he requested the pleasure of my company this evening?" He asked, maintaining a gracious tone despite his growing aggravation with the pale nobleman. His eyes flickered when they fell upon the other lord's scowling expression.

Relieved by his purposeful interjection, the woman sighed. Her grey-blue eyes gazed at him until the pale nobleman's voice drew her attention once again.

Lord Armster lifted his head, causing strands of his pearly white hair to settle against his pallid cheeks as he replied condescendingly. "I am surprised you had to ask, Lord Bernhard. I want to _thank you_ for saving my life, of course. Lady Rohesia explained you helped return me here before finding Sir Gandolfi."

"Your thanks are unnecessary." Walter flicked his hand. Detecting the white-haired lord's contrived gratitude, his lips formed a knowing smile. Unimpressed by the man's attempt to bait him, he added. "Given the lady's concern for your life, I could not refuse."

"Indeed." The man's unusual paleness enhanced his severe expression. "Wiedenheim is far from your domain, Lord Bernhard. My lady told me you were hunting that evening. What an unexpected coincidence."

"Milord?" The woman's voice rose in objection. She gave the white-haired lord a scathing glare. "I thought you invited Lord Bernhard here to thank him?"

"I _did_ thank him." Lord Armster's attention flitted from her to the red-haired lord in their company. "I was complimenting Lord Bernhard for his _remarkable_ timing." His scowl deepened. "I hear far better hunting grounds are located closer to your domain. The town's mead surely could not have been _that_ good?"

"Sadly, I did not try it." Walter's eyes narrowed. "I was rather preoccupied carrying your unconscious body back here," he said, his polite smile turning to a smirk.

He loved it when the pale nobleman challenged him, for it merely enhanced the pleasure he felt when Lord Armster realized his attempted insults were meaningless. Though the nobleman's combat skills were impressive, even by his standards, he would not hesitate to put the other lord in his place. His pale adversary had no idea _what_ he was dealing with. The red-haired lord would ensure it stayed that way. Nevertheless, Lord Armster's boldness still piqued his interest. He would play the man's game…if only to satisfy his insatiable need for entertainment. He could not deny his attraction to the crusader's elegant appearance. Undoubtedly, if he truly wanted to, he could have the white-haired lord wrapped around his finger – and body – eventually.

However, he reflected upon the servant woman's words, remembering her statement that Lord Armster would soon lay claim to Lady Rohesia as if it was inevitable. Walter detested sureness in anything unless _he_ determined it to be so. The nobleman was unaware of their 'unique' arrangement, which he had no intention of ending. Whenever Lady Rohesia looked at him, her unspoken affection wore away at his heart like waves against a rock face.

After a tense silence passed, Lord Armster's sharp gaze returned to the lady. "Please excuse us. I wish to speak with Lord Bernhard in private."

Walter attempted to reassure her – his voice softening whilst his dark eyes traced the concern in her lovely, fair face. "I will see to you later, milady."

"Will you now?" Before she could respond, Lord Armster's cold voice overcame hers. "Tis' overcast this evening. You shall not be able to do much stargazing."

With a dismissive flick of the hand, he tossed his head. The coils of his lush crimson hair curtaining the red glint in his eyes whilst he replied – his confidence expertly masking his irritation. "The lady and I will study my star charts instead."

Arabella hesitated a moment, her grey-blue eyes glancing between the two until she resigned herself to submit. She gave them a parting curtsy and moved toward the door, her long dress sweeping elegantly around her feet as she went. "I will await you in the great hall, Lord Bernhard."

Upon her leave, Lord Armster sought his chair by the fire. Though the man did not offer him a seat, Walter swept toward the chair the woman had occupied prior to her departure and sat down. His lack of concern for permission seemed to incense the other lord, who returned his action with a silent glare.

Though his cold tone remained, Lord Armster's tension eased somewhat. "Would you care for some tea?" His gaze refused to lift from the red-haired lord.

Walter returned the man's feigned politeness with a mocking smile. He rested his left elbow on the chair's cushioned arm. Despite the white-haired lord's reluctance, he could use a drink, if only to make the conversation more tolerable. "I prefer wine." He cupped his chin in his gloved hand.

Lord Armster's fine lips formed a frown. "Is it not a bit late for alcohol, Lord Bernhard?"

The red-haired lord raised an eyebrow, his displeasure at last beginning to show. His dark spheres flickered. "The night is young, Lord Armster. I drink any time I choose."

With a quiet huff, the other lord shook his head, his lips forming a slight smirk. "You will have tea." He picked up a small bell on the table beside him and gave it a sharp ring. The carrot-haired servant entered the room not a moment later. She hurried to white-haired lord, nearly catching herself on the skirt of her dress as she went. When she came before him, she cast her eyes to the floor.

The woman's subdued voice filled the silence. "Yes, milord?"

Without looking at her, Lord Armster pointed to his empty teacup on the table. "Lord Bernhard requires tea as well."

"Yes, milord." The woman hurried out of sight, her swift steps indicating an awareness of her master's dislike for delay.

When they were alone once again, the white-haired lord's cold gaze drifted to the hearth's crackling flames. His gauntlet-covered hand flicked back strands of his white hair, which fell in waves against his cheeks the moment he moved. His armor's metallic gold trim protested his monochromatic silver and white form. Even at rest, the man did not remove his armor. Walter sensed Lord Armster could never entirely remove himself from conflict – whether it was at home with Lady Rohesia or with the heathens of the east. The pale nobleman's contemplative expression revealed his unending agitation.

At last returning his attention to the other lord, the crusader shifted in his chair – reinitiating their conversation. "Neither my company nor I drink." He began, his voice quieting somewhat as if his refusal to acquiesce to the other lord's request required further explanation. "Some detest me for it, even though alcohol makes them reckless. I will not allow my men to engage in lecherous behavior whilst the Saracens threaten the holy land."

"Is that so?" When their eyes met, Walter drummed his fingers against his cheek. If there was one thing he disliked, it was being denied what he wanted. He was entitled to whatever he wished without question. The human's refusal to accept that fact incensed him. Giving the man a bitter look, he continued. "If I recall correctly, you were drinking at Lord Trantoul's party. Even your Lord Jesus seemed not above partaking in it occasionally. I doubt the church would take kindly to those who would refuse communion. At least the wine is decent..."

Unbothered by his comment, the crusader replied. "It is just for show, Lord Bernhard. I spit out whatever I drink or pass it to a servant. As for communion…" A quiet chuckle vibrated from his throat. He pressed his pale hands together, his lips forming a smile. "When they present the cup, I pretend to drink from it. To this day, the priests and bishops have never noticed, for they are far too busy reading and reciting prayers. It would not occur to them that one would refuse to commune with God. Although some believe that the Church's offerings are transformed into the body and blood of Christ, I remain unconvinced. Alas, this shall be our little secret."

Walter stared at the man in disbelief. He could not imagine disliking wine. Even the possibility of existing without it horrified him more than religion. If God truly wanted to punish him for his sins, temperance would have been his ultimate undoing. Wine was the only part of communion he thought most humans looked forward to.

As he contemplated the man's unusual circumstance, Lord Armster took notice of his troubled expression. "I suppose, you want to know why I do not drink?" He asked, the coldness in his voice lifting somewhat. "I have seen too many men fall into despair because they try to drown their pain with drink. Myself included." Silence overcame him. Then, drawing a breath, his eyes returned to the fire – lingering on the dancing flames whilst he whispered. "I do not keep any alcohol in my estate. Consider it prudish if you must, but I care not. The temptation is too great a risk. I would rather face my horrors than conceal them."

The red-haired lord gave the man a thoughtful look. Against his better judgement, his aversion for Lord Armster relented. Lady Rohesia's unending concern for the pale nobleman won his pardon. Though he felt the man's abstinence was borderline criminal, he remarked. "Lady Rohesia told me you suffer from frequent nightmares." Unable to resist testing him, he added. "War and death are a facet of life, Lord Armster. God does not care one bit about suffering. As such, I do not care, either."

As if the red-haired lord words had stabbed him, Lord Armster's eyes widened. His once soft voice resumed its familiar coldness. "So, you say." He snipped, his sapphire eyes clashing against the other lord's dark, obscure ones with a will to incinerate him. "Were you to lose something that truly mattered, I doubt you would be this smug, Lord Bernhard. I have seen things…you cannot possibly imagine…and done things that would make even Judas himself seem worthy of salvation."

"Oh, I can imagine." Walter gave the man a shrewd smirk. He was willing to bet without an ounce of doubt that his death count was far higher. Always willing to see the _silver_ lining in bloodshed, he added unapologetically. "I have heard that, like your lady, you have a fondness for silver colored horses from the region. You are very…particular…about them."

The white-haired lord hissed under his breath. "My horses are the only good things to come from that wretched war. Even then, such innocent creatures are not immune to suffering."

"They are beasts." Walter replied, his lack of concern incensing the man further. "If one dies, buy another one. I do not see the problem?"

"Well, I _do_." Just as the pale nobleman attempted to rise from his chair, the carrot-haired servant returned carrying a tray of teacups and saucers. The moment she appeared; his attention shifted – as well as his anger. "Where were you?" He tossed his head, allowing silky tendrils of his ivory hair to fall around his furious expression. "You kept my guest and I waiting. I demand an explanation!"

"Forgive me, milord. It will not happen again."

"Perhaps, I should find another servant to replace you – one who does not think it appropriate to waste my valuable time?"

"No, please! I promise not to delay ever again!" Tears formed in her eyes as she set the cups and saucers down on the tables beside their chairs. When the lord continued to glare at her, she allowed her tears to fall. Then, drawing a trembling breath, continued quietly. "Please, I would be destitute-"

"You should have thought about that before you displeased me. It is not my fault; it is yours."

Walter stared at the young girl, his dark eyes focusing upon her tearful expression. Barely conscious of it, something akin to _understanding_ reflected in his gaze. He did not know why, but the other lord's callousness offended him. With a heavy sigh, he rose from his chair and slowly approached the young woman, his tall frame looming over her and shadowing the firelight. As he looked down at her tear-streaked face, his lips formed what may have been a smile. The pathetic creature had somehow won his attention. He tried to tell himself that he did not actually care who she was. He would indulge his curiosity, if only to spite the other lord – and because he had nothing better to do. He enjoyed controlling the fates of others. Whether his decisions benefited his focus of interest or not was of little consequence. Or so he _wanted_ to believe.

Remembering their conversation earlier, his voice softened. "What is your name?"

Taken aback by his unexpected interest, the woman looked up in surprise. Though her voice was barely audible, Walter heard her reply clearly. "Anneliese, milord."

"What are you doing?" Lord Armster rose from his chair, his dark blue eyes attempting – unsuccessfully – to freeze the other lord with their intensity.

The red-haired lord maintained his attention upon the woman. "Well, Anneliese…" He began, ignoring Lord Armster's displeased scoff. His calm expression drew her green eyes to his. Had the woman not captured his attention, he would have thought killing her an appropriate solution to starvation. At least her death would be swift and merciful. Yet, he did not desire it. Lady Rohesia promised the woman continued employment. As it was _her_ wish, he was fully prepared to carry it out.

His unwavering confidence drew their attention. "If Lord Armster has no want of you, perhaps I shall employ your services, Anneliese. Lady Rohesia noted my castle could use…'_a good dusting_.' Unlike your lord, I have all the time in the world to wait – and less propensity for temper tantrums."

"Absolutely not!" The white-haired lord objected. His voice rose when the woman's despondency faded upon hearing the other lord's offer. "You already took my lady, I will not let you take my servants as well-"

"Did you not just dismiss her?" Walter countered – his lips forming a wry smile. "As she seemed to be _very_ recently unemployed, I thought it appropriate to ensure the poor creature does not starve. I am certain your lady would also approve."

"I have decided not to dismiss her, after all." Giving them both an icy scowl, Lord Armster abruptly returned to his seat. The man reached for his teacup and saucer. Once the delicate porcelain cup was securely in his grasp, he brought it to his lips. His cold voice broke the silence that followed. "You may go, servant."

Having resolved the situation as expected, he returned to his chair – giving the tea on the table next to him a dismissive look – before resuming their conversation. The man's pettiness never ceased to amuse him. Suspecting the lord's anger at him was the likely cause, a more delicate approach was required. Although it was unlike him to tread so carefully, he reflected upon Lady Rohesia's unwavering fondness for his creatures – Pumpkin, the golem and his horse, Enoch.

With a thoughtful smile, the red-haired lord noted. "Your affection for equines is quite something. Though, I suspect, not without reason?"

Lord Armster's sharp eyes looked at him while sipping his tea. After pausing a moment, he set the cup down on its saucer. He seemed to hesitate. The profound sorrow reflecting in his wintry eyes revealed its importance. After drawing a heavy breath, he began softly. "When I was seventeen, I was wounded in battle. The company I fought with assumed I was dead and left me to God's will. When it seemed I would surely die, my horse returned for me. I have no idea how or why, but he refused to leave until I forced myself to climb atop his back. Despite the cruel desert sun, the beast carried me back to camp. I owe my life not to men, the church, or even God – but to a horse."

"That is a…remarkable tale." Walter's brow furrowed. He could not imagine such a circumstance or deny the man's truthfulness. Yet, he suspected there was more to the tale.

His silence encouraged the pale nobleman to continue – his voice quavering as he spoke. "Indeed. I am unsurprised my comrades left me. Perhaps I should not blame them, as I am pale and devilish in appearance. They were probably happy to rid themselves of my existence. However, animals have not the cruel nature of men. Alas, I miss him…and regret riding him into battle after that." After a lengthy pause, Walter noticed the man's hand begin to shake – causing the teacup to rattle nosily against the saucer beneath it. With a trembling sigh, the crusader set the cup and saucer down atop the table beside him with a loud clatter. Upon ridding himself of the telltale object, he clenched his hand into a fist. Currents of anger simmered beneath his austere expression, his lips twitching whilst he forced the words from his throat. "My horse was felled by an arrow through the neck. There was so much…_blood_. I was covered in it. I never knew who killed him…but if I did...I would have ripped out his innards with my bare hands. I killed so many men in that battle I was drenched in death by the end of it."

For the first time since meeting the pale nobleman, Walter could not think of a response. The man's visceral anger required none. The raw emotions churning beneath the crusader's pallid face was as fascinating as it was threatening. Never had a human filled him with excitement and trepidation simultaneously – until that evening. The red-haired lord wanted to turn away as much as he wanted to absorb the man's volatile indignation. The longer he watched, the more his hunger for the pale nobleman's blood grew.

He could tell the man seldom spoke of it, for Lord Armster's rage quickly transformed to despair. Needing to do something, the white-haired nobleman rose from his chair once again and walked to the hearth – pacing slowly back and forth in front of it. Shadows danced across his pallid face; the firelight revealing the intensity of his emotions whilst he continued darkly. "I…did not expect that when I returned home, far greater darkness awaited me. I do not understand what God wants of me. I have seen the dead walk the earth. I have seen stone come alive and try to destroy me. Yet, worst of all, I saw a demon – perhaps the devil himself – fly through the night and snatch my beloved. I thought I had been through hell in the east but that is nothing compared to _this_." Catching the red-haired lord's smirk, Lord Armster stopped abruptly. "I speak the truth, Lord Bernhard! I saw these things with my own eyes!"

"I do not doubt that you did, Lord Armster." Walter returned the man's rage with an amused look. The man truly had no idea of his superior knowledge – and he was determined to keep it that way. To man, they were horrifying examples of the end of days. To him, they were an everyday occurrence. Most men would think such monsters symbolized Revelations' immanency. However, the only 'revelation' he obtained was Lady Rohesia's unwavering affection for them. "The devil works in mysterious ways, I suppose." He tried not to laugh when Lord Armster's severity intensified.

"Indeed, he does." The crusader snapped, visibly annoyed by the other lord's indifference. "It leads me to wonder why the devil chose _Arabella_. As soon as I return from my campaign, I will marry her in haste. Unfortunately, she will no longer visit you then. You should enjoy her company…while you can."

"I do not think Lady Rohesia would agree." The red-haired lord's smirk abruptly vanished.

The pale nobleman's eyes glinted in the firelight. His fine lips pressed into a deliberate smile. "It surprises me you would think her time with you is not finite. Those monsters nearly killed me. I realize now that I must preserve my family's legacy – and the only way to do that…" His smile broadened. "Well. I am certain you understand my implication?"

"I understand, _very well_, indeed…" Walter slowly rose from his chair, his tall form shadowing the white-haired lord.

He swept toward the man, towering over his silvery form with a will to crush him. It took all his effort to refrain from throwing Lord Armster into the hearth. He would have relished hearing the man's terrified screams whilst his pale form succumbed to the flames. Somewhat unsatisfied by its swiftness, for he _wanted_ Lord Armster to experience his brutality, he imagined himself slowly tearing the human's limbs from his wretchedly pale body. It would be so very, very easy. Killing Lord Armster may have even been a blessing for the man, as it would bring peace to his endless war.

Lord Armster's cold voice shattered the silence. "Now that I have enlightened you about Lady Rohesia's future, perhaps you could enlighten me about your peculiar habit of visiting only after nightfall, Lord Bernhard?"

The red-haired lord would have been delighted to explain. In fact, he fleetingly considered it again – clicking his teeth as he glimpsed at the white-haired lord's neck. Though mostly concealed by a mandarin collar, Walter could smell the blood flowing beneath his snow-white skin. He tried not to chuckle at the fact the man had nearly baited himself into his own death.

He would exercise restraint…for _her_.

Walter's anger faded to mock amusement. He would play the human's little game, for now. The question was not unexpected. Nor was his answer. "Like you, I have a rather unusual condition." He explained, choosing his words carefully to avoid arousing suspicion. "I must be mindful of my health. I prefer to stay out of the sun, when possible, for I am susceptible to heatstroke."

"That is rather unusual, indeed." The white-haired nobleman surveyed him a moment. "More than anyone, I am in no position to judge." His lips curled into a frown. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, his voice lowered to a whisper. His sapphire eyes gleamed in the firelight; their penetrating gaze transfixed upon the other lord's fair visage. "Though in my heart, I will judge, anyway...as most people do. For the moment, however, I am more interested in finding the source of those monsters. Were it not for that…" His voice trailed away.

Walter forced his lips into their familiar, practiced smile. Since no one had ever discovered his nature, he brushed the humans' warning aside as if it was merely a nuisance. The man's words were akin to a wasp buzzing in his ear. Even if Lord Armster tried to sting him, his pathetic weapon was no match for his superior power and skill. Thus, he held his tongue – spiting the other lord with his unwillingness to reply.

Upon realizing his words would yield nothing, Lord Armster scoffed, his loathing intensifying. "Something unholy is corrupting this region. I will find the source of it, one way or another-"

Before he could continue, the lord's stable boy burst through the door and ran into the room. The youth, still bearing a mark on his face from his master's assault, beseeched the man's attention. He quickly removed his hat, the urgency in his voice somewhat excusing his unwanted interruption. "Milord! Please, come quickly! Your mare – there is something wrong-"

"What?" Lord Armster whirled in place, his anger subsiding upon sighting the youth's fear.

"Your mare went into labor tonight – and her foal was too weak to live. I fear she is close to death as well-"

What little color the pale nobleman had drained from his face. "You're lying!"

Without hesitation, he stormed toward the youth, his long white hair and silver robes flying behind him as he went. Torn between fear and fury, his once austere expression contorted into an angry mask. His piercing blue eyes locked upon the youth as he raised his hand, fully prepared to strike the boy down until a thread of composure gave him pause.

The youth's eyes widened as the crusader flew past him, his voice trembling as he went. "S-she will be fine! I-I will go to her, so she knows I am there!" Within moments, the man's hurried steps faded to silence. Knowing better than to delay, the youth followed suit – his grave expression revealing the hopelessness of his master's endeavor.

Walter remained by the hearth. Though he should not have been troubled by the crusader's anguish, his willfulness was concerning. Lord Armster truly believed he could somehow stop death from taking what it wanted. Centuries existing in defiance of death taught him the impossibility of the mortal's desire. Only a fool would imagine themselves capable of undoing it.

Unwilling to give the man's hopeless cause further attention, he left in search of Lady Rohesia.

* * *

As expected, the lady was waiting for him in the manor's great hall. As it was a moonless evening, the hall's massive windows yielded nothing but the obscure night sky. Yet, as if to drive back the night, candelabras along the walls illuminated the room. Candlelight gently illuminated her lithe form as she turned to greet him. Walter paused in the doorway, silently tracing her face and memorizing every feature as if to burn it into his memory until the end of time.

Until the end of _their_ time.

After much hesitation, he strode into the room. His long black cloak fluttered behind him as he went; its sound drawing the woman's attention. He watched her lips lift into a smile. Her grey-blue eyes brightened the moment she saw his face. He wanted to say something, but his words were trapped in his throat. When he came before her, he swept a deep bow – expertly concealing his apprehension behind the thick coils of his rich crimson hair.

"Lord Bernhard!" A twinge of concern reflected in her eyes as she gazed at him, detecting his unusual refrainment. "What did Lord Armster say to you? You look sad, milord."

Walter returned her concern with a gracious smile, his dark spheres reflecting her face in them whilst his deep, sonorous voice attempted to reassure her. To his chagrin, it was more difficult than he expected. "Why, what is there to be sad about?" He asked – struggling to maintain his unwavering smile. "Do not worry. Lord Armster and I merely shared a cup of tea and some banter."

"Very well…" She replied, her eyes revealing her doubt. "What would you like to do this evening? You mentioned reviewing your star charts?"

"Would you care to do something else instead?" He asked, his eyes glinting when her uncertainty transformed to confused surprise. "I am not in the mood for stars, tonight. As we are in the hall, perhaps you could show me that dance again? I tried to practice but, as you said, it is far better to dance with another than alone…"

Lady Rohesia's lips parted; her gaze never leaving him as he offered his hand. Uncertain how to respond, she whispered softly. "What of Lord Armster?"

"What of him?" Walter's eyes flickered. "Another matter of importance required his attention."

"At this hour?" She stared at him a moment longer - uncertain whether to take his hand or to seek out her lord. When his smile remained, she gently wrapped her hand around his. Despite accepting his explanation of her lord's absence, uncertainty still clouded her thoughts. Very slowly, she lifted their hands into position. A tiny smile appeared on her face as she looked up; her pale blue eyes meeting his dark ones. "You are very…_persuasive_, Lord Bernhard." She whispered. "Lord Armster would certainly not approve of me dancing with another man…without his permission."

"Ah, I would expect not." The red-haired lord's lips formed a knowing grin. "More importantly, what does the lady think?"

Chuckling softly, she shook her head. "I do not need his permission."

After drawing a tense breath, the red-haired lord slid his other hand around her waist and drew her closer, his voice softening. "No, you do not." Then thinking a moment, he added. "I will lead this time."

Even though he had no idea how to lead, he began to move across the floor – albeit slowly. Despite his awkward rhythm, the woman followed him gracefully along the floor, slowing her steps to match his pace. As they moved, he gazed down at her, fearing she would vanish the moment he blinked. She continued smiling at him, her gentle gaze luring him back to her as she remarked softly. "Your technique is improving. I suppose, you have centuries to perfect your skill with whomever you please."

"Perhaps," He mused, "Though I much prefer dancing with you. You are an excellent teacher."

The lady rolled her eyes. "Given what happened to your music teacher, I hope your skills don't exceed mine."

Walter's smile broadened. "Unlike him, you do not use a riding crop."

Shaking her head, she gave him a cheeky look. "No, though I could…"

The red-haired lord laughed. The woman's imagination never ceased to surprise him. Then, remembering his conversation with Lord Armster, his throat tightened. All at once, his tone became solemn. "Your lord intends to marry you upon his return from the east." Though his words were more-so a statement than question, the woman lowered her head, her lips forming a frown while she stared at their feet. Curtains of long blonde hair partially obscured her face. When his comment received only silence, he added carefully. "He expressed a strong desire for an heir."

"I am aware." She continued looking at the floor, her pensiveness drawing his interest. "I am certain he will invite as many respected families as possible to prove their assumptions incorrect."

"What assumptions?" Walter asked, knowing her answer before she spoke it – but wanting to hear it anyway, just to satisfy his suspicion.

"That he is incapable of finding a reputable woman who would have him despite his condition. He will likely invite the Belmonts, Cronqvists, and Trantouls, among others. I can only hope he will invite my family as well, for I have not seen them in ages. He will not permit me to visit – likely fearing I will not return…"

Walter considered her words; sensing the pain in her heart when she spoke. He guided her to the other side of the hall, catching the sorrow in her eyes when she finally looked up. He wanted to imagine he was a source of comfort for her, despite his feigned indifference. A strange feeling overcame him while they danced together in candlelight.

A tiny smile crossed his lips as he drew her closer to him, his words whispering in her ear. "You speak as though your fate is inevitable. _Nothing_ is inevitable."

"Did you not tell me humans have no power over their fates?" She asked, her pale eyes widening. "I am surprised. I did not expect you to change your mind?"

"My view is the same." He interrupted – attempting to backtrack even though she had detected his duplicity. "I am merely suggesting that your fate may be…undecided."

"What do you mean?" She asked, her voice filling with uncertainty. "All this talk about fate this, and fate that is wearisome! I haven't agreed to a wedding date, yet, but it's only a matter of time. He refuses to let me see my family unless I marry him."

Fearing he may have driven himself into a corner from which there was no escape, he paused a moment, gathering his thoughts before answering plainly. "Do you want to be bred like one of Lord Armster's horses? I did not think you would submit so easily."

The woman recoiled, her eyes blazing at his crude comparison. With a loud scoff, she withdrew her hand from his and stormed to one of the hall's many windows, her hair flying behind her as she went. "Nothing is that simple, Lord Bernhard! Unlike you, I am bound to human society – as well as its obligations. You think he has not tried to _breed_ me already? He has called me to his chamber several times in the middle of the night." Drawing a heavy breath, she shook her head. "Each time, I have delayed – telling him God would not approve before marriage. My refusals seem to _increase_ his want of me…though, for now, he has honored my wish."

"I regret my words have offended you." Walter swept a low bow before her, hiding his concern behind the waves of his fiery hair. When she refused to acknowledge him, he swept toward her, his voice quietening as he continued. "I should have expected you would not be so meek. Surely, you could visit your family during his campaign and conveniently forget to return?" Despite his confidence, his lips twitched at his own suggestion. The possibility of her leaving, never again to see him, made his throat constrict.

A small smile creased the corners of her lips. With a dry laugh, she shook her head. "My family is in England, far away from here. Lord Armster would surely convince my father to command my return. Only my eldest sister understands. Sadly, she has gone to Norway with her husband, the Thane of Hallingdal. Alas, our lives are slowly drifting apart…" Then pausing a long moment, she looked at him – her eyes gleaming in the candlelight as she whispered. "I will stay, Lord Bernhard. That is my choice."

Walter's eyes widened – his lips parting as he struggled to fathom a reason for her decision. Aware that he had caused her sorrow, he gently took her hand in his and brought it to his lips – kissing her smooth, warm skin in silent apology.

When their eyes met, the words drifted from his lips. "I will always look forward to your visits."

"As will I." She whispered, her smile broadening.

Barely conscious of his action, he brought his hand to her face and cupped it – wanting to feel her warmth against his skin. Although he was tempted to remove his glove, he did not want her to see his pallid skin and clawed fingernails. Such things served as painful reminders of their differences. He understood Lord Armster's self-awareness about his appearance. Although he did not loathe himself, he feared she would recoil if she saw the betraying features of his impurity. Thus, he shielded himself beneath layers of fabric, refusing to completely yield to her, even though he longed to.

When it seemed they would be lost in each other's presence, the lady startled upon hearing a loud, horrifying scream reverberate through the hallway beyond. Her head turned in the direction of the doorway, trying to discern the source of the sound – while likely dreading she already knew. "Something is wrong!" She cried, her voice rising alongside her fearful expression. When the screaming and yelling sounded again, she whirled and hurried across the hall to the doors – her grey skirt flying with her steps as she called out. "Lord Armster must be having another nightmare! Yet, this seems worse than before!"

Knowing full-well what had happened, Walter swept after her, feigning surprise as they emerged into the corridor beyond. Without hesitation, she continued onward – her steps quickening as the yelling became more frequent. When they emerged atop the grand marble staircase, Walter saw the pale nobleman pacing back and forth at its base, his wide, sapphire eyes filled with uncontrollable rage. The manor's numerous candelabras half-shadowed his tall, silvery-white form. As he shouted, his voice trembled with grief. "This was not supposed to happen! The Saracens have cursed me for my crimes by reclaiming her life! Damn them all to hell! I did what God wanted me to do; I did what the church wanted me to do; I did what the _devil himself_ wanted me to do! What do I receive in return? The church mocks me by calling me the _pale horseman_! Surely, those heathen bastards are here – trying to find me – trying to destroy me! I will kill every one of them for what they did to my horse! I will murder them all!"

"Milord! What are you saying? What happened?" She hurried down the steps, her hair and dress flying behind her as she went. "I am here for you. Please, calm down!" Like a doe throwing itself before a rabid animal, she flung her arms around him and pulled him close. "Had I known what happened to your mare, I would have accompanied you-"

The white-haired lord pulled away, his eyes blazing with a wrath unlike any Walter had ever seen. When it seemed he would turn from her, his pale hand snatched her firmly by the wrist. When she tried to resist his hold, his grip tightened – causing the lady to cry out in surprise. The red-haired lord stepped forward, his body tensing whilst his dark spheres flickered red. Anger swelled within him as he watched the pale nobleman pull her closer to him. He considered intervening but the man's fragile state made him unpredictable. Knowing he could very well harm her, he stared down at the man's pale figure – fully prepared to descend instantly if the situation got out of hand.

Lord Armster's glassy, dark blue eyes bore into hers with a will to tear her apart. "The Saracens are here! They killed my mare and foal! They have come for retribution! I will find and kill them all – including anyone who dare help them!"

"Milord!" She cried once more, her voice increasing in urgency when he reached for the sword sheathed on his back. "You are not in the east! You are here, with me, my love! Please, you must stop, this is not the battlefield-"

"Stop lying to me!" He shouted back, his fury increasing as he withdrew his sword. He clutched the deadly steel blade in his fist, his wide, fearful gaze scanning the hallway – sighting several of his servants hiding in one of the adjacent rooms. Yet, Walter sensed the man's eyes had betrayed him, for his words contradicted reality. "Get out of my way! The Saracens are right there – they will kill you, my love! I will not let them! They already killed my mare and her foal; they will die here and now for their sins! I will carve their wretched bodies into pieces!"

"No, you will not! Those are your servants, milord!" When he attempted to toss her aside, she gripped his arm – pulling him back, her determination outmatching her fear. "They are your _servants_! They are human beings! I will not let you hurt them!"

Unwilling to let go, she continued to pull back on his arm – as if her strength alone could stop him. Her fruitless effort only seemed to drive him further into despair. She threw herself in front of him, blocking the doorway to the servants, who screamed and ran to the back of the room in which they sought refuge. The small group, consisting of Anneliese and three other young women, stared in horror as he attempted to move around Lady Rohesia's smaller, grey form.

"T-there is so much blood! Everywhere!" Lord Armster screamed, his voice rising with a will to bring the heavens down upon him. "It is their fault they must die!"

"No one is going to die!" She screamed, her voice trembling. "Come back to me, my love! You can hear my voice; you know it is I! I will not let anyone hurt you anymore! I beg you, sheathe your weapon and come back to me! The church ordered you to stand down. Surely, you will not ignore the church's decree and harm these innocent Christians?"

"What order?" Her assurance gave him pause. After drawing a heavy breath, his whispered – his cold, blue eyes brimming with suppressed tears. "_The first thing to die in war is innocence_."

"The church has ordered you to stop!" Her firm and unyielding tone silenced him. "You will hand me your weapon!"

"Who gave the order?" His voice filled with uncertainty. For a moment, his grip on the blade lessened. His dark blue eyes glanced between the woman and the servants crowded against the wall behind her.

"Cardinal Francis." She answered – her lack of hesitation assuring him of her truthfulness. "You will obey!"

A tiny smirk creased the corners of the man's lips. With a low chuckle, his sapphire eyes penetrated through her with knowing intent. "There is no Cardinal Francis." He hissed, his voice darkening whilst he raised the sword. "Now, get out of my way. The Saracens must die!"

"No!" When he attempted to lift his arm, she grasped the hilt of his sword – attempting to wrench the weapon away. The moment her hands touched his, he shoved her back – causing her grip to loosen and slide off. Her left hand flew upward, catching the edge of the blade between her palm and thumb. Without hesitating, the pale nobleman shoved her against the wall by the door. Blood gushed from her wound and streamed down her wrist and arm. Not an instant later, Walter dove from his perch atop the steps – his superior speed and strength enabling him to throw Lord Armster backward down the hallway with such force that had he wanted to, he could have broken the man's back with barely a flick of the wrist. As he did not want the lord to die, he withheld the full force of his attack so the man merely hit the floor with a loud crash. The red-haired lord stormed toward him, his eyes flashing a burning shade of red as he grasped the man by the neck and wrenched him up from the floor single-handedly.

As the pale nobleman struggled against his superior grip, he brought the man's face close to his own – his voice lowering as he snapped. "This ends now." The redness in his eyes burned with a will to destroy him while, simultaneously, giving the man a glimpse of what he would be up against should he disobey.

Anger and fear surged across Lord Armster's pallid face as he rasped. "Your eyes!"

Having easily subdued the lord, he stared the man in the eyes, lulling him into a stupor with his mind. As Lord Armster's consciousness began to wane, his lips formed a tiny smirk. "They will never believe you."

Within seconds, the man's head lolled back. The red-haired lord dropped him unconcernedly on the floor. With an exasperated sigh, he turned and swept back to the lady, whose grey form was hidden from view by the servants around her. Anneliese withdrew a rag from her apron and wrapped it around the lady's hand, pressing it firmly to staunch the bleeding whilst the others attempted to offer words of comfort. Yet, the lady's eyes remained only upon him. When he stood near her, she struggled unsteadily to her feet.

Anger welled within him as he gazed down at her, regretting his inaction. Had he intervened earlier, none of it would have happened. Yet, she seemed grateful for his presence, despite his delay. She knew it was not in his nature – but he had forgone it, for _her_. His desire to avoid killing Lord Armster – again, for _her_ – filled him with dread. He knew not why he gave up so much so _willingly_. Crimson blood seeping through the rag on her palm called to him. The intoxicating scent drew upon his deadly instincts. He lifted his hand and touched the smooth surface of the ebony stone; denying its demand to succumb to bloodlust.

With a sigh, he lowered his head – his dark spheres gazing longingly at her tear-streaked face whilst he whispered. "I should have stopped him sooner-"

"No." She answered, her voice overcoming his. "I thought I could bring him back…but I failed. I only hope he does not remember this." Then, turning to Anneliese, she said. "Have the male servants bring Lord Armster to his chamber. He leaves for the east tomorrow at dawn. Ensure his supplies are prepared. Though I do not wish him to go, the church will punish him severely if he delays."

"Yes, milady." The woman hurried off without question.

Another female servant ran down the staircase carrying a wash basin and bandages. Before she could speak, Walter held up a hand and pointed to the bottom step. "Put the basin there and give me the wrappings. I will tend to Lady Rohesia myself. The rest of you are dismissed."

The woman glanced from him to Lady Rohesia. When she nodded in approval, they bowed and hurried off – their swift steps thumping across the carpet until only silence remained. Walter led her to the base of the staircase and sat a few steps up; pointing for her to sit on the second step from the bottom so she was slightly below him. He dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out. Then, with a gentle smile, he took her hand and pressed the damp fabric against her palm. The blade had cut her cleanly but not deep enough to leave a scar. Upon closer examination, he determined it would heal in time. As they sat together in silence, he cleaned her wound – ignoring the scent of her blood – whilst reflecting on her mortal fragility.

As much as he thought himself above his instincts, he knew the price of eternity. His power was waning along with the night - and his self-restraint. "Well, this was certainly an _interesting_ evening." He wrapped the bandages firmly around her hand, ensuring they would remain in place so she could still move her fingers, if need be. Upon securing them, his gloved fingertips gently caressed the surface of her palm. His voice lowered. "You risked your life for servants. Your concern for human life would be admirable, if it was not so foolish." When she gave him a scathing look, he chuckled under his breath – tempering her anger when he added. "Nevertheless, I will accept your choice. You never bore me."

Seemingly uncertain how to interpret his 'compliment,' she replied quietly. "Are you still playing those games, Lord Bernhard?"

Walter paused, giving her a somewhat stern look whilst he answered. "Why would I not? The more humans you save, the more I shall have to kill. This is a rather delightful arrangement for us both."

A sigh escaped her lips. She looked away from him, her voice filling with regret. "I thought…I could be your _only_ game."

"You are, for now." He smirked – his dark eyes glinting. Though his plainness seemed to relieve her, he felt her hand tense in his.

Without replying, she pulled away from him. Taking her silence as indicative that their conversation had concluded, he rose to his feet. His tall form shadowed her while he gazed down at her sorrowful expression. Her disappointment gave him no satisfaction. Yet, he refused to admit he had not played any games in quite some time.

Unwilling to appear complacent, his lips formed an empty smirk. "It seems my time here is at an end. As it is still evening, I shall bid you good night, Lady Rohesia. Do take care of your hand…"

"Do take care of your conscience, Lord Bernhard – if you still have one." She whispered.

Unwilling to grace her insult with a reply, he glanced at her over his shoulder. When her crystalline spheres met his, he released a low, amused chuckle. Despite himself, tenderness reflected in his eyes. Then, moving to the door, he returned to the night.


	14. Rehearsal

**Chapter 14**

As time went on, his search for the Crimson Stone rarely drew his attention. Nights he would have once spent in solitude, or at parties keeping up appearances, were instead spent with the lady. Despite knowing her betrothed would return, he desired her company.

Pumpkin waited for the woman every evening at the castle entryway. The little imp would pace back and forth in anticipation. So great was the creature's attachment to her that as soon as she left, it sulked like a child.

His hunts dwindled to four times a week, then two, and eventually, only once a fortnight.

When he and the lady were not walking through the castle halls, stargazing, or embarking on leisurely horseback rides through the forest, they discussed all manner of things. On the rare time he had not read a book she brought with her, they would sit together by one of the theater's many hearths – a book in her lap, the red-haired lord sitting across from her in a chair. He listened intently when she read to him or asked for his opinion. Though he refrained from revealing it, he enjoyed the stories about Greek Gods. He loved hearing about their efforts to maintain power whilst succumbing to human temptations.

On rare evenings when she did not visit, he sat upon his throne, his thoughts consumed by her. Despite his effort to be a good host, the Ebony Stone's petition for her blood gnawed within him. It was an inconvenience he was more than capable of managing.

He was the ebony stone's master. It yielded to _him_.

But the woman did not - and he was content for this to remain so.

One evening, after returning from a successful hunt, Walter sensed the woman and child in a different area of the castle. Rather than exploring the garden or the theatre, the duo had wandered to Eternal Night's waterways.

As he strode across the drawbridge, he licked his lips. The hunt had gone well, if a bit hastily, for he wished to see her upon her return. His hunger temporarily satiated; his gloved fingertips sharply tapped the stone. He had given the object what it wanted.

Walter stopped in the castle's entranceway. Silence he once found comforting now filled him with dread. The red-haired lord's dark eyes widened. He could not articulate his relationship with the woman despite thinking on it often. He wondered if he had become too easily influenced by human ideals. Lady Rohesia quelled his turmoil as much as she created it.

Looking down at himself, he noticed little red droplets speckling his black leather gloves and burgundy coat. Despite his efforts to wipe them away, the stains of his cruelty remained. Briefly, he thought on the life he took. The hunt's pleasures were fleeting.

The woman, on the other hand…

He had never dreaded taking a life.

Unless that life was hers_._

* * *

Walter's lips curled when he felt the waterways' cold, damp air against his skin. Gold candelabras adorning the room's derelict walls cast eerie shadows on the floor. Despite their hopeful light, the room refused to yield its secrets. Water slowly dripped down its dank, crumbling walls like the tears of a fallen god. Somewhere in the distance, the rushing sound of water called to him. As he brushed strands of his crimson hair away from his face, he silently resented the clammy, godforsaken cavern in which he stood.

The teleport pad, which was veiled behind a rusted wrought iron gate, partially concealed him from view. Even though the entryway was large, its dirty stone floor, cavernous walls, and vaulted ceiling suffocated him. Many brave warriors lost their lives to the creatures lurking within its dark, sodden passageways and rooms. The watery labyrinth threatened to devour any who dare traverse it. A door on the opposite side of the room, hidden behind a large iron gate identical to the one concealing the entrance, led to the waterways' numerous diverging hallways. It was not unusual for humans to get lost within them; never to be seen again.

Fortunately, the woman and child had remained in the entranceway. Although Pumpkin accompanied them, the imp was preoccupied with whatever had captured their attention. They stood in front of a stone balustrade overlooking an aquifer; their backs facing him. A large wooden bucket filled with trout was set on the ground by their feet. Beside it was a slightly smaller wicker basket with a curved handle, which the child often used to carry books and snacks during their visits. Water gushed from pipes set into the stone facing lining the reservoir below. A fast-moving current flowed through arched stone tunnels beneath the floor. As he approached, three massive pinkish-red fins rose to the surface. The fins swayed languidly against the current, unhindered by the swiftly moving water. While the two of the fins were identical in appearance, the third had a noticeable split near the front.

The lady bent down and picked a large trout out of the bucket. Long, golden hair fell gracefully around her face and across the balcony railing like sheets of silk.

After straightening, she lifted her arm straight up. The woman's soft, yet audible voice echoed across the room. "Jump!"

The fins disappeared beneath the water's dark, murky depths. Without warning, three creatures breached the surface in union; positioning their bodies into graceful arcs. As they sailed through the air, their gleaming scaled forms caught his attention. The creatures' arms and legs gave them an uncannily human-like appearance. Their layered teal blue scales gleamed in the dim candlelight. As they plunged into the murky abyss, water sprayed into the air and over the balcony railing. They leapt back; narrowly avoiding becoming soaked. He watched her lean over the railing and scanned the water.

Three reptilian heads appeared. Their small yellow eyes stared up at the woman with ravenous hunger. When they opened their jaws; their mouths revealed small, razor-sharp teeth. As they bobbed at the surface, they hissed and whistled in anticipation. The lady picked up several trout and tossed them, one at a time, over the railing. The one with the split fin snapped at the others, catching their share of the fish until she threw a few other ones further away. The other two, watching the motion of her arm, lunged and snatched each fish before it hit the water. After claiming their reward, the creatures dove beneath the surface and disappeared. She continued to watch the current, knowing they would return – if provided enough motivation.

"Milady, can I try?" Justine peered over the railing; her chestnut eyes bright with excitement.

She nodded. "Yes - but be sure you let go of the fish this time. Fisk almost took your hand."

The child eagerly plucked a fish from the bucket. As the railing was nearly taller than she, she had to stand on her toes to see over it. Whilst holding up the fish, she peered down at the churning water below. Her chestnut eyes shone with excitement. "Walk on water like Jesus!"

Not a moment later, the creatures lunged out of the water; their strong, webbed feet enabling them to force their heavy frames into vertical positions. Whilst kicking the surface with their tails and feet, they propelled themselves backward in a synchronized line. When they neared an arched tunnel on the opposite side of the aquifer, they hissed and whistled as they fell backward into the deep and vanished once again.

Justine laughed, her eyes widening. "Did you see that, milady?"

The woman nodded. "Very impressive! Tying the fish to a stick and guiding it along the surface worked very well. I will have to think of something new to teach them."

When they resurfaced, they opened their mouths expectantly. As the child tossed them handfuls of trout, they leapt over one another; trying to snatch as many fish as possible. Once again, the creature with the split fin took the greatest share of the fish. After swallowing several whole fish down its gullet, its eyes focused on the lady. It watched her every move; popping its jaw and whistling whenever she gave it any attention. Like a dog, its tail thrashed the surface in excitement; sending a spray of water haphazardly into the air. After a few minutes, the creatures submerged, their teal-blue forms vanishing like mirages into the abyss.

Catching sight of him from the corner of her eye, the woman turned to face him. "Lord Bernhard!"

Walter approached the railing and stood next to her. While glancing between the woman and the water, he frowned. "Good evening, milady. I did not expect to find you and the child _here_. What on earth are you doing?"

Justine pointed at the water. Her voice was shrill with excitement. "Lord Walter, we found mermaids a few weeks ago! They seemed hungry and sad, so we decided to feed them!"

The red-haired lord shook his head, the disdain in his voice evident. "They are _not_ mermaids, child. These creatures exist solely for my use."

"Nonsense, milord." A small grin creased the corners of her lips as she grabbed a dead fish from the bucket. The fish's silver scales gleamed in the torchlight. "They are intelligent and capable of far more than you realize."

Unimpressed by her argument, he smirked. "Such as?"

Turning to the balustrade, she held the fish over the churning water. "They can learn behaviors and understand human speech – or, at least, _some_."

"And how does that serve _me_?" He asked, his smirk broadening. "Their reptilian minds only comprehend the taking of life. As that is all I require of them, it is their only purpose."

"For you, perhaps." Sighing, she continued. "Does it frighten you that they could learn to be _more_?"

"I do not need them to be anything except what they are."

"That is because you have not tried to see them as anything else." Her grey-blue eyes focused on him. "Why do you keep them locked away down here? Surely, they would be much happier in a more natural setting where they can hunt freely? They seem to prefer fish more than humans, anyway."

Thinking on her words, he tensed. When his eyes met hers, he smiled patiently and rested his hands on the railing. "Unlike them, I do not. Do you think you can train _me_?"

"Haven't I already?" She laughed, her delight somewhat easing his irritation. "You have not killed me!"

"Not _yet_." Chuckling under his breath, he gave the fish a disgusted look. "I shall not perform ridiculous tricks for _fish_."

"Perhaps not, but like them, you enjoy games." She remarked, dangling the fish over the water to attract the creatures' attention. "I hope you have not forgotten about _our_ game, Lord Bernhard."

Walter's eyes narrowed. Scoffing at her assertion, he answered darkly. "You play with things you do not understand." His fingertips dug into the railing. Were he not wearing gloves, they would have undoubtedly left marks in the stone.

With a look of feigned terror, she countered. "The same could be said for _you_."

Annoyed by her ability to reflect his remarks back at him, his attention averted to the child. As Justine climbed atop the railing for a better look at the creatures below, his lips twitched. "Countless humans have been dragged into the depths and torn to pieces by these creatures. You best remember that next time you extend your hand over the water."

"Why, Lord Bernhard, I dare say, it sounds like you are _concerned_ for someone _other_ than yourself!" Sarcasm melted off her words.

Uncertain how to respond, he shook his head and warily searched the depths for their scaled forms. If the beasts so much as _looked_ at him in a way he disliked, he would not hesitate to crush their skulls, fillet their corpses, and roast them atop one of the furnaces in the laboratory – despite her objections.

When his gaze averted back to the woman, he parted his lips – deliberately revealing his fangs. "Think what you wish. Tis' better they remain here, rather than dragging sailors and fishermen to their deaths."

She shook her head, her long golden hair partially concealing her disapproval. "No creature deserves imprisonment." Giving him a tender look, she rested her hand atop his while dangling the fish over the water with the other. Upon feeling her touch, his tension eased. "I hope you will not lock _me_ away, as you have these poor creatures, should you grow bored of me. This place…fills me with more fear and dread than the creatures within it."

After thinking on her words, his lips formed a slow, deliberate smile. "I am not inclined to take prisoners, milady. As prisoners have little use, I would much rather-"

Before he could finish, the woman's eyes shot to the child like a hawk. "Justine! Get down from there!"

Justine had climbed onto the railing. While standing atop it, her feet placed one in front of the other on its narrow stone surface, she peered at the water below. Huffing under her breath, she glanced at woman's anxious face. "I'm fine, milady!" The railing's smooth, damp surface gleamed in the torchlight. "I can see them much better now! Look, there's Fisk! I think that's his fin under the water."

Walter's eyes widened.

He lunged forward; snatching her in his grip and pulling her back with such speed, the child did not even have a chance to cry out in surprise. Seconds later, the reptilian creature burst from the depths – its snapping jaws narrowly missing her. Justine flung her arms around the back of his neck, clinging to him with all her might. His large, heavy frame flew back with astonishing speed.

Lady Rohesia gasped, dropped the fish, and staggered back. With a loud, roaring hiss, the creature snatched the fish in its jaws. Then, taking its quarry with it, it plunged back into the depths below. Water flew into the air and across the railing before she could evade it. Sopping wet, she cried out – her long, soaked blonde hair dripping a puddle of water onto the floor by her feet.

Upon noticing the woman's stunned expression, he hissed. "_Now_ do you understand?" His lips curled into a reproachful scowl. He brought the child close to the wrought iron gate veiling the area's teleport pad. Whilst standing with the child in his arms, he glared. "These creatures are not playthings, Lady Rohesia. Despite claiming they should be 'free,' you treat them no better than _pets _for your amusement. Should you begin to view _me_ in a similar manner, I will gladly demonstrate the severity of your error. Had I not intervened, the little whelp…" He trailed away, deliberately leaving the grisly image to the woman's vivid imagination.

She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes meeting his in mutual disparagement. "Fisk was trying to grab the fish, not the child. These creatures could have harmed us many times – but they _chose_ not to." She paused. Her lips pursed as she glanced from him to the water below. As she stared at the dark, churning stream, uncertainty clouded her confidence. Strands of wet, water-logged hair clung to her paling face. Slowly, her grey form turned to face him.

A heavy sigh wracked her chest when she at last spoke. "I…did not realize. I thought I was being kind." Clasping her hands together in front of her, she sighed. Wounded by his words, her voice drifted softly through the darkness. "Forgive me. I would never think of you as…"

"Don't be sad, milady!" Justine beamed, her cheerfulness prompting the woman to look up. "I'm okay! Although it was fun playing, maybe we should do something else?"

Sighing again, she nodded.

Knowing his words caused her injury, he gave her an apologetic look. As it was unlike him to display _any_ modicum of regret, he swiftly concealed it behind a familiar, mocking smirk. As he set the child down, Justine looked up at him in confusion.

Unbothered by the red-haired lord's imposing stature, she asked. "What's a whelp?"

Before he could respond, the woman answered. "A very smart young lady."

"I'm not young! I'm almost eight summers." Justine huffed. Then, noticing at the red-haired lord's smirking expression, she asked. "How old are you, Lord Walter?"

"Justine! It is unladylike to ask someone their age." The lady scolded, her lips forming an amused smile.

With a low chuckle, he bent forward until his dark, probing eyes were nearly level with the child's. His tall form shadowed the little girl's smaller figure completely. After a deliberate pause, he whispered in her ear. "I am _far_ older than I look, child."

"You don't…look _that_ old." Justine frowned. Unintimated by his reply, she quipped. "Papa looks much older than you! He tries to hide it, but I heard mama tell him that his hair is turning grey!"

Walter's smirk broadened. "Adults say a lot of things, don't they? Appearances are deceiving though. After all, you are much smarter than you look, child."

Uncertain whether his words were complimenting or insulting, the little girl's brow furrowed. "If you're as old as you say, how come you're not wrinkly?"

After pausing again, he slowly lifted his hand and shook his index finger at her. "Perhaps, someday, I will tell you...but only if you promise to behave. Your lady was quite worried."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble." The child's head lowered. Then, sighing, she asked quietly. "Do you like it when we visit?"

His smirk slowly vanished. Giving the child a gentle look, he lifted her chin with his finger. The red-haired lord's dark, gleaming spheres stared at the little girl's face. Then, gazing beyond her at the lady's smiling face, he replied. "You forgot your basket, child. Go and fetch it."

"You didn't answer my question!" The little girl giggled sheepishly, her dark brown eyes meeting his.

"As you are _alive_, that is the only answer you need. Now, go."

He smiled.

* * *

He escorted them to the garden; hoping the scenery there would be more enticing to the woman and child than the waterways. When they arrived in the rear part of the garden, Justine skipped ahead and withdrew a large blanket from her basket. The child's eyes, wide with curious excitement, glanced around the large room. Arrays of exotic plants, their species unknown even to him, grew along vine-covered walls. A decorative stone lion head, located on the opposite side of the room above a wooden door, caught the girl's attention. She stopped to admire it a moment, her large eyes wide with fascination. Water gushed from the lion's open mouth and flowed through a channel on a ledge along the walls of the rectangular space. Above them, a broken domed glass roof provided a glimpse of the star dotted sky. Trunks of fallen trees scattered the edges of the room.

Turning to the lady, the child bowed her head. "Milady, may we sit here for a while?"

The woman nodded approvingly. "Yes, this will do just fine."

Justine laid a blanket across the tiled ground and sat down. She removed a round, cloth-wrapped object from the basket and set it on the blanket in front of her. Pumpkin, seemingly enticed by the mysterious bundle, tottered over and plopped down onto the blanket beside her. The creature's large, round head tilted slightly, as if in curiosity. The cloth was neatly tied with a piece of twine like a present.

With an excited grin, the girl carefully unwrapped it. "Anneliese makes the best dessert! She let me help her bake it this morning; I put the cream on it all by myself!" She gazed hungrily at the delicate cake. A single, whole strawberry decorated each piece's elegantly frosted white exterior. The cake's triangular-cut pieces were perfectly layered with cream, vanilla and strawberries. "I hope you and Lord Walter like it, milady."

The woman seated herself on the blanket across from her, the skirt of her long dress fanning around her. With a warm smile she pointed at a piece. "Please take some, Justine. I can't eat the entire thing by myself!"

"But it's your _favorite_!" Glancing from the cake to the woman's smiling face, she whispered. "Anneliese said it costs a lot to make and it's not for us lowly-"

"I will not add gluttony to my long list of sins!" The woman chuckled, ushering insistently to the cake. "Go on, child. You helped make it; it seems only fair you should try it first."

"Thank you, milady!" The girl grinned and picked up a piece. Before taking a bite, she looked up – her large, brown eyes focusing on the red-haired lord standing against the wall a few feet away. "Lord Walter!" She chirped, her voice winning his attention. "Won't you come sit with us?"

"I am fine where I am." Walter stared blankly at the cake.

Though he could not deny the cake was made with skill, he refused to be seen in such a manner. The woman and child's excitement perplexed him.

The lady looked up at him, her grey-blue eyes drawing his attention. "Is sitting on the ground too undignified for you, Lord Bernhard?" She joked. "Haven't you been to a picnic before?"

"No, I have not." He replied, his lips curling at the thought. "I have far worthier interests."

The woman shrugged. "Surely, one with such _refined_ tastes as yourself has tried strawberry shortcake before then?"

He eyed the cake again. "I prefer wine."

"So, you haven't?"

"I do not need to."

"There are many things we do not need but enjoy nonetheless."

"Ah, like _you_, I suppose." He smirked, his dark eyes glinting with subtle amusement.

Chuckling softly, she patted a spot beside her on the blanket. "I like to indulge occasionally, though…don't you?"

Intrigued by her coquettish invitation, he replied. "I enjoy indulging in _many_ things."

Drawn by her presence, he left his watch. He did not know for certain, but her cheeks seemed to flush a very subtle hint of red. Strands of thick red hair fell around his face as he looked down at them both, his smirk slowly transforming into a soft smile. Never had he imagined himself picnicking in his garden with _humans_. Their unawareness of the garden's blood-stained soil amused and troubled him. Many men had fought and died among the foliage. Their demise nurtured its soil for centuries. Decomposing corpses were absorbed by plant-like monsters or consumed by the lizard men roaming the deepest parts of the area.

For the first time in centuries, he thought on the humans who perished in his garden; their memories and remains lost and forgotten by time. Even he could not recall every single human that had traversed it. Even if he tried, their faces and identities escaped even _his_ memory. Though their deaths did not trouble him, the meaninglessness of their existence, as well as his own, did. With a barely audible sigh, he sat down on the blanket beside her.

Upon noticing the woman and child's smiles, contentment overcame his reluctance. As he was unused to sitting on the ground, he could not resist proposing a more appealing alternative. "I could have one of my servants prepare us a table, so we do not have to sit among the insects like beasts."

"Where would the fun be in that?" The lady rolled her eyes. "The point of a picnic is to enjoy nature and conversation."

"Does Lord Armster like picnics, milady?" Justine asked between bites of cake.

Walter's – and the woman's - smiles abruptly vanished. Glancing deliberately at the lady, he huffed. "I did not think he liked the outdoors, given his pale complexion."

"Speak for yourself, milord." The woman gazed at his crimson hair and unusually fair skin. "You are as pale as a nun's tit."

A loud roaring laugh escaped his throat. "Who would have thought a _lady_ would say such things."

"Oh, come now." She returned his smirk. "You love it when I speak my mind. Not that _you_ would know what a nun's tit looks like, anyway."

"Do not be so certain, milady." A tiny, knowing smile appeared on his lips. He shook his gloved index finger at her. "My experience is more extensive than you think."

The woman gasped, her face awash with feigned dismay. "Lord Bernhard!"

Bits of whipped cream, strawberry and vanilla cake crumbs clung to the child's cheeks and chin. Unconcerned about politeness, the girl tried to wipe her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Before she could, the lady withdrew a handkerchief from the basket and brought it to her face.

Justine's nose wrinkled in disapproval. "Milady, stop! I'm not a baby-"

"You will ruin your dress!" The woman scolded, her smile winning the child's unenthusiastic cooperation. "I'm sure your mother does not want to spend hours trying to remove the stains."

As she dabbed the cream and strawberry off the child's face, Walter chuckled and eyed the child's strawberry-stained mouth. The light red syrup covering the corners of her lips had an uncanny resemblance to blood. Upon remembering the red liquid he had tried to remove before meeting them, he smirked. "You seem to have gotten more on your face than in your mouth, child."

"What's a tit?" Justine asked; gazing up at them in confusion.

Feigning indifference, the red-haired lord stared at the girl's puzzled expression. He never imagined he would have to answer _this_ question. With a careful smile, he replied. "Tis' something that only concerns those older than you, child. Eat your cake."

"Are you calling me _old_?" The lady's smile broadened.

"I would not dream of it."

"Surely then, _you_ are not too old to try something new?" She insisted, "I bet you will enjoy the cake almost as much as you enjoy me."

"Perhaps, even more." He chuckled; waving her away when she huffed.

The child's jovial response, which was partially muffled as she devoured her piece of cake, made him chuckle. "Lady Rohesia probably wouldn't taste good!" She quipped.

Giving the woman a shrewd look, Walter smirked, his dark eyes focusing upon the woman's reddening face. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes locked upon his. "Tis' a shame your experience will not extend to _me_. I am more than you can handle."

"I think not." He smiled.

Then, picking up a piece of cake, he stared at it – noting its perfectly arranged layers. Bits of strawberry syrup dripped onto his gloved hand. As he looked at the red colored liquid, his face paled. The Ebony Stone called to him. His hand trembled so profusely; he nearly crushed the cake in his fist. Her voice drew him away from the stone's menacing demand.

"What's the matter, Lord Bernhard?" She teased – unaware of the war raging within him. "Didn't your mother tell you not to play with your food?"

"Unfortunately, no." His dark, penetrating eyes locked with hers.

A strange feeling overcame him then, though he knew not what it was. As his mind sought to understand why she lured him so, his smirk broadened. He leaned toward her and bent down slightly – his lips skimming her ear. Without waiting for permission, he gently brushed back strands of her damp, golden hair. His eyes flitted to her neck – taking in the sight of the smooth, vulnerable flesh. Though her frame tensed, she did not move away. He watched her turn her head toward him slightly, her grey-blue eyes tracing his smooth, pale face. Tendrils of fiery red hair fell against his cheek; partially veiling him from her gaze.

When she looked away wordlessly, he whispered. "Think nothing of what happened in the waterways, milady. I understand you meant well. Now, which do you prefer I try first…the cake or _you_?"

The woman's face, now nearly as red as his hair, stared back in astonishment. "Rather than play with your food, go play with _yourself_. I think there is a patch of bushes over there-"

Before she could finish, he huffed under his breath, lifted the piece of cake, and dropped it on her head. Bits of strawberry, whipped cream, and vanilla slid down her hair and face. "I am _fine _in that respect, milady." He replied nonchalantly. "Besides, I would rather _keep an eye on what I eat_."

Stunned, the woman blinked – her words trapped in her throat.

As her face grew redder and redder, a loud, roaring laugh escaped his throat. Flicking his cape, he rose to his feet.

As she tried to wipe the whipped cream from her hair, she snapped indignantly. "You…_uncouth flap-mouthed coxcomb_, _wayward sheep-biting flax-wench_, _loggerheaded motley-minded horn-beast_!" Pieces of strawberry tumbled down her face and into her lap; staining her grey skirt pinkish-red. Barely able to articulate the words she wished to say, she stumbled to her feet and glared. "God's anus! How dare-"

"Ah, tis' for that night in Wiedenheim, Lady Rohesia. Shall I call you _my little shortcake_ from now on? Or, would you prefer I call you something more befitting your new look?"

Justine's large, brown eyes stared at the woman's disheveled appearance in disbelief. Damp from the waterways and now covered in cake, Lady Rohesia's mouth fell agape. "Milady, you look like that crazy lady I sometimes see wandering the town!" Nearly dropping her piece of cake, the child burst into laughter. "I like what Lord Walter did to your hair!"

"Do you now?" The woman replied, her lips forming a tiny, proud smirk. "Well, perhaps I should bestow you the same _style_, then." Before the child could scramble away, she snatched a handful of cake and threw it at her. Pieces of vanilla frosting, cream and strawberry littered the ground around them. The child's once pristine cream dress was instantly covered in pieces of cake, sticky red syrup and cream. Not a moment later, the lady snatched another handful of cake – destroying its once elegant layers as she clutched it in her hand.

Then, looking at the red-haired lord, she yelled. "If you want to play with _me_, you'll have to do better than that, Lord Bernhard!"

Walter smirked. "I will be more than happy to demonstrate what happens to those who challenge me-"

"Oh, I am _sure_ you are." She cackled, her voice rising with her escalating temper. "Oh wait – you _lost_ your previous game, just as you shall _this_ one."

"I _never_ lose. He is simply…fortunate he has such a _devoted_ fiancé, whom I happen to _tolerate_. I am sure he looks forward to expressing his undying _gratitude_ in bed with you, soon enough."

"At least I will not be sleeping _alone_." She retorted.

The red-haired lord's smirk broadened. "I suppose not, though I hope he knows the hole that makes a child from the one rivalling your foul mouth-"

Without waiting for him to finish, she tossed her handful of cake at his face. "Thank God, you are _silent_, at last!"

Whilst wiping the cake and cream off his face, he huffed. "You shall be too, I am sure, when Lord Armster puts his manhood in your-"

A piece of cake hit him in the mouth. He whirled, sighting the child as she hurried to the cake and scooped a large handful into her smock. Then, giggling merrily, she rushed toward a fallen tree and scuttled behind it.

Within moments, it was all-out war. Walter lunged at what remained of the cake, snatching as much of it in his arm as he could before the woman could take it. Then, with a loud, booming laugh, he leapt onto the ledge above, eager to obtain a better vantage of the woman and child. He watched Lady Rohesia scramble to grab what remained of the cake. After passing some of it to Pumpkin, she ran toward him and began throwing - her recklessness startling him somewhat. Unlike the child, she made no effort to hide. As he effortlessly evaded her attacks, he dashed along the ledge, kicking water at her as he went while pelting her with cake.

"You will have to do better than that to best _me_, Lady Rohesia." He smirked.

"Of course, _you_ would hide up there like a _flying rat_!" She laughed, her eyes gleaming with amused resentment. Then, turning to the imp, her eyes widened. "Pumpkin! You're supposed to _throw_ the cake, not _eat_ it!" The little imp stared up at her in silent bewilderment, a piece of cake half-lodged in its gaping, crescent-shaped mouth. Upon hearing her scolding, it thrashed its little arms at its face to dislodge the cake.

Realizing her ridiculousness, she laughed again, until a piece of cream-covered vanilla hit her in the back. Whirling in place, she eyed the child behind the trees and took off after her, laughing and throwing what remained of her stockpile at the girl's face and dress. In response, Justine leapt from her hiding place and tore toward her, tossing pieces of cake in all directions – except the one where the woman was.

Bored of his vantage point above them, Walter swooped to the ground and pelted them both with whatever he had left. By the end of it, their cake-covered forms lay on the ground – laughing.

Meanwhile, Pumpkin tottered around the room, happily eating the spoils of their feud.


	15. Performance

**Chapter 15**

Lady Rohesia sat atop the steps leading to the theatre's stage. Her long grey dress's thick layers draped gracefully across the wooden steps. Her calm voice drifted through the air as she read aloud from a book.

The red-haired lord sighted the succubus standing in the corner at the back of the stage. The creature's scantily clad form was partially veiled by the stage's red velvet curtain. The demoness watched the woman with passive interest. Her leathery black bat-like wings folded around her body while she leaned against the wall.

Walter sat down in one of the center balcony's lavish velvet chairs; his dark eyes focused upon the woman. He did not wish to interrupt her. Her audience – consisting only of Pumpkin and the temptress – was so engrossed in the story that they did not notice him. He set his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin in his hand. A tiny smile creased the corners of his lips. Despite the theatre's opulence, he could not recall a time when actors had brought its stage to life.

Pumpkin sat upon the woman's lap. The creature's spherical head was tilted upward. Its' hollow black eyes, which gave the appearance of wearing a perpetual grin, looked up at her in child-like awe.

"_When they heard her word, four hundred knights more did on their armor, for the queen was eager to do her enemies a hurt. Soon they came in sore straits. When she saw them well armed, she said to them, 'Stand still a while and wait. I will go out to my foes with my crown on. Hearken while I unbraid Hagen of Trony, Gunther's man, with what he hath done to me. I know him for too proud a knight to deny it. After that, I care not what befalleth him.'"_

The imp hopped off her lap and bolted to the stage. As she continued reading, it mimed its interpretation of the characters' actions.

"…_But Hagen, the bold man, answered angrily_, _'Well, I know that it is against me they carry their bright weapons in their hands. But, for all that, I will yet ride back to Burgundy_."

Pumpkin placed its arms on its hips and its frown deepened. It lifted its spherical frog-head hand straight into the air as if holding a mighty sword, attempting to synch its actions with her words. The familiar extended its candied hand and tapped its feet, imitating holding the reigns of a horse. Instead of clopping sounds, its feet made boisterous squeaks.

She laughed, seemingly uncertain of whether the imp was acting out a comedy or a tragedy. "So, you like this story, do you?" When Pumpkin nodded in response, she continued. "It is one of my favorites. Though, I do grieve Queen Kriemhild's ill fate."

The creature cocked its head. With a gentle smile, she rose and stepped onto the stage. After hesitating a moment, she flipped to the end of the book, her voice filling with sorrow as she read the queen's final line.

"…_I come off ill in the reckoning. I will keep Siegfried's sword at the least. My true love wore it when I saw him last. My bitterest heart's dole was for him..._"

Intense feeling permeated her words. The woman's loving sorrow captured him completely; refusing to let him deny the emotions she wrought within him. His dark eyes glistened whilst his mind reeled from his inability to escape her power. Never had anything beckoned such raw emotion from his tainted soul. Though she was unaware of his presence, he wondered how she succeeded in creating the illusion that she grieved for _him_.

The succubus emerged from her silent perch, eager to ruin the heartfelt moment the woman had so skillfully crafted. The creature pranced lightly across the stage; her bare, clawed feet hardly touching the floorboards. Her lithe form stopped within a few feet of the human visitor. Despite their distance, the young lady took a cautious step back, her eyes locking upon the demoness with suspicious interest. The winged creature flicked her hand in dismissal, her long, black fingernails reflecting ominously in the torchlight.

"Who cares if her love is dead?" The temptress spat, "Could she not find another man? She is queen, after all!"

The lady's eyes widened at the demoness' words. With a patient sigh, she replied. "The queen's desire to avenge his death is driven by her love and grief. Without that, there would be no story to tell. I believe her tragic fate illustrates the follies of revenge."

"He was a fool, anyway!" The succubus cackled.

The lady sighed. "Siegfried believed he was invulnerable after covering himself with dragon's blood. He did not expect Hagen would discover his weakness."

"Ironically, his weakness was woman!" The temptress cackled again, her pitiless expression somewhat unnerving the human standing before her. "Had he not loved Queen Kriemhild and told her his secret, none of this would have happened. I hope everyone dies at the end. Tis' always more exciting!"

"Sadly, most of the characters do."

"Excellent!" The temptress' eyes glinted with excitement. "Read it to me then, for I wish to hear everything in its gruesome detail."

After drawing a heavy breath, the woman acquiesced.

"…_She purposed to slay the knight. She lifted it high with both hands, and smote off his head…_"

The lady raised her other hand and slashed it in a sideways cutting motion. In accordance with her words, Pumpkin lifted its stumpy limbs in the air in surrender before toppling over upon the stage's wooden floorboards.

"_King Etzel saw it, and sorrowed. 'Alack!' cried the king, 'The best warrior that ever rode to battle, or bore a shield, hath fallen by the hand of a woman! Albeit I was his foeman, I must grieve.'_"

Pumpkin leapt to its feet and bowed its head. Its hollow eyes seemed to soften somewhat. Nevertheless, the imp's smiling face gave the gesture an eerie – rather than regretful – impression. While trying not to laugh at the ridiculous display, the lady continued reading.

"_Then said Master Hildebrand, 'His death shall not profit her. I care not what come of it. Though I came in scathe by him myself, I will avenge the death of the bold knight of Trony._'"

To Walter's astonishment, the succubus silently mimicked drawing a sword from a sheath. Her wings unfurled alongside the gesture, whilst her ruby lips formed a mischievous grin. Though the demoness guarded the theater, he had not expected her to join the performance. Boldened by the succubus' unexpected interest, the lady snapped the book shut and spoke the closing lines, her mournful voice momentarily causing the theatre's lonely atmosphere to recede.

"_Hildebrand sprang fiercely at Kriemhild, and slew her with his sword. She suffered sore by his anger. Her loud cry helped her not._"

The succubus darted forward and made a slashing motion with her hands. At first, she kept her distance from the human – though it ultimately proved unsatisfactory. Without awaiting the lady's approval, she slinked around the woman's backside and drew her index finger across her vulnerable throat. The temptress' talon-like claw lightly skimmed the supple flesh in a cutting motion. Though the demoness did not pierce the lady's skin, the gesture elicited a surprised gasp. Then, with a proud laugh, the demoness shoved her onto the stage's wooden floorboards.

Despite her dress' cumbersome layers, the lady retaliated with surprising swiftness. Anger swept across her face as she lunged at the siren and backhanded her across the face. The unexpected attack sent the blond-haired temptress staggering back in surprise. With a loud scream, she unfurled her wings; eager to punish the woman for her audacious reprisal. As the demoness lifted her arm back, the imp threw itself between her and the raging demoness. Pumpkin's empty eyes and unsettling hollow smile made the temptress hesitate.

Though the lady's reprimand somewhat impressed the red-haired lord, the concubine's disobedience was unacceptable. As he rose from his seat, the demoness hissed through gritted teeth. "I am certain my master will end you as soon as he tires of your existence! If he doesn't make you his personal whore, perhaps he will turn you and enslave you to my will? I would like that much better, indeed."

"So be it then." She replied coldly, her eyes narrowing upon the temptress with growing disdain. "Lord Bernhard has never harmed me."

The concubine's lips formed a cruel smile. "The only thing my master wants more than blood is power. Power is his true companion; not love – and certainly not a _human_."

"Like life, power is ephemeral." She replied. "One can spend their entire existence pursuing it and never have enough. I pray he will not follow that path."

"Tis' pathetic you do not know how naive you sound, human." The creature laughed, its eyes alighting with joy at the maiden's downtrodden expression. "He will never relinquish power, _not even for you_."

"I would never ask him to!" She held up a hand. Her eyes burned with fury; the creature's injury undoubtedly reaching its mark. "Go to hell, you _sarding cunt_!" Without a backward glance, she descended from the stage and hurried to the doors. The familiar trailed close behind, its boisterous squeaking steps contrasting her soft ones.

The lady's bereaved departure inclined him to seek her out, for he did not understand what troubled her so. He was about to translocate when the seductress took notice of his presence upon the balcony.

"Oh master, you have chosen quite a naïve one this time!" She cackled. "When are you going to turn her? I could use some company!"

"Hold your tongue, wench!" He tossed her backward against the stage's back wall with his thoughts. The demoness hit the wall with such force that her spine and limbs bent to odd, unnatural degrees. With a shuddering gasp, she fell upon the floorboards in a twisted heap.

Despite the pain he had inflicted, the creature's lips formed a perverse smile. "You've always liked it rough…"

Walter scowled at the vile wretch; his dark eyes tinting a shade of red. With a low huff, he translocated out of sight.

* * *

After a time, he finally found Lady Rohesia in one of the laboratory's many libraries. Piles of books were stacked in neat piles around her chair. Above her, the enormous gyroscope hanging from the library's vaulted ceiling spun endlessly on its three axes. Centuries of use tarnished the object's original copper material dark green. The library's numerous wall lanterns were lit; casting a dim orange glow across the books and manuals lining its dilapidated wooden shelves. Pumpkin sat upon the floor by her feet tinkering with an old brass armillary sphere.

The lady had placed her chair directly in the center of the 16-point compass rose painted upon the floor. She was so lost in thought that she did not notice him translocate behind her. Walter watched her silently for a moment, wondering what had captured her interest. Despite her efforts to continue reading, he noticed her gaze drift to the spinning gyroscope in fascination.

Walter approached her chair and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. Upon feeling his touch, she leapt up. The book on her lap fell to the floor with a loud thump. As she hastily kneeled to retrieve it, her eyes widened.

Before she could speak, the red-haired lord bowed his head. "Forgive me for startling you, milady." Though she returned his words with a smile, the sadness in her gaze was revealing. "I saw your little performance in the theatre. Tis' a shame that humans forbid women from the stage; you would make a fine soliloquist. I know that epic well."

"I did not know you liked plays?" She clutched the book against her chest, her eyes drifting to the floor when his penetrating gaze refused to leave her. The subtlety of her withdraw seemed due to preoccupation, rather than submission.

"Very much so." Walter replied, his lips lifting into a satisfied smile. "I have seen hundreds of them throughout my existence. If you require weapons for props, do not hesitate to take some from my displays. Try to avoid using them on my succubus - although she is tiresome, I still require her service."

"I will be sure to keep that in mind." With a soft sigh, her lips parted. Reluctant silence constrained her voice.

The earnestness in her eyes heightened Walter's interest. Unwilling to let it lie, he stepped toward her, attempting to penetrate her careful shield. "I know you are keeping something from me. I do not like secrets."

The lady's lips formed a frown. With an impatient huff, she set the book down on her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Her voice hinged with impatience. "For one who dislikes secrets, you seem to enjoy keeping them more than anyone."

"Some things are not meant for you to know." Walter replied smoothly; attempting to ignore her terseness.

"Why not?" She glared at his smirking expression; the vehemence bubbling beneath her calm exterior at last beginning to surface.

"Because I deem it so." He flicked his cloak back in annoyance.

"Of course, because you deem it so, _Walter_."

The lady so seldomly addressed him by his first name that he paused upon hearing it. All at once, his smirk fell away into a scowl. Even though she merely spoke his name, her harshness stung him. His gloved hands balled into fists; his mood immediately souring from her retaliation. He was unused to anyone challenging him, let alone Lady Rohesia. Even when his game nearly caused Lord Armster to meet his end, she had managed to maintain a respectful formality. Yet, her decision to address him by his first name struck a chord he had not expected. Despite his displeasure, he wondered if he had, perhaps, allowed her too many indulgences. He could not deny he looked forward to her visits, even though a part of him felt he should not. Her unpredictability broke the frustrating monotony he had grown accustomed to.

Unimpressed by her challenge, he narrowed the gap between them further. His voice lowered to a hiss. "Do not test me."

"Or what?" She spat. "Will you turn me into an undead harlot for your amusement?"

He drew back, his pupils flashing bright red at her suggestion. Their game intrigued him far too much to choose such a predictable resolution. As if addressing a spoilt child, he snapped. "I have exercised more patience with you than any other. If anyone else were to speak to me in that manner, I would tear out their throats with nary a thought. Do not forget."

"Is power the only thing that matters to you?" She accused, her voice rising when his smirking expression remained unchanged.

"My matters are none of your concern-"

"Tell me why you allow me to return here time and again? What am I to you?" As if he were a leper, she backed away from him. Smoldering rage burned in her eyes.

Walter stepped toward her, refusing to allow her to distance herself from him unless he wished it. Without hesitating, he forced his lips into a smirk. Despite his effort, his cruelty toward her no longer fulfilled him. "You are to me what a mouse is to a cat: something to toy with until you are no longer entertaining. Tis' simple."

The woman's anger crumbled into despair. A heavy sigh wracked her chest as she whispered. "If it is simple, kill me and be done with it."

Her soft words seemed capable of draining the red-haired lord of his power, for he knew not how to respond to her invitation. Walter hesitated, his dark eyes widening in confusion. He felt his throat constrict; his voice was somehow lost to him. Anger surged under his calm façade, though it was directed at _himself_, rather than her. He gritted his teeth - unable to decipher why her suggestion caused him such anguish. He thought on her performance in the theatre, remembering her grief-filled voice when she delivered the queen's final words. He reflected upon the beautiful moment when she had unknowingly exposed her tender heart to him.

His voice softened, though he could not entirely relinquish his contempt for her naïve vulnerability. "We are not in the theatre, milady. Death is not the grand display you have read about in poems and plays. It is merciless and indiscriminate."

The lady sighed, her voice immobilizing him when she replied. "That is what you will become if you value power above all else."

As he stared down at her, his voice regained its former callousness. "Your opinions are insignificant. Those who lack power are destined to seek it from those who have it. _Just as you did with me._"

She shook her head in dismay. "What on earth are you searching for that your current power is still not enough? Will it _ever_ be enough?"

"I do not have to answer to you, human." He snapped.

"I should have expected as much from an arrogant scoundrel." She turned her back to him, unwilling to yield, despite his visible anger. "You assume I shall remain willfully ignorant of your cruel endeavors. If I am unworthy of your respect, perhaps you are unworthy of mine. I will leave and never again seek your company, for I no longer wish to be the object of your _entertainment_."

Upon hearing her threat, rage surged through every fiber of his being. Without hesitating, he snatched the woman by the arm and forced her to turn around. When he saw her grieved expression, he released his hold; his anger shattered by her aversion of him. Weakness was unbecoming to one such as he. He felt powerless to overcome the injury she inflicted upon him. At all costs, he would not – could not – allow her to see it.

When his mind pictured the woman departing, his desire transformed into a resolve to possess her – if only to save himself from the pain of losing her. "Indeed, I am capable of many things - such as keeping you here, should it suit me. Unlike you, my power is not limited to speech, alone."

She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to discern whether his words were spoken in anger or sorrow. After withdrawing a trembling breath, she whispered sadly. "I suppose it would make no difference. I would simply be exchanging one prison for another."

Upon hearing her words, Walter's hand balled into a fist. It incensed him that she would dare compare him with Lord Armster, even subtly. Her words were yet another blow to his fragile composure. "You should be grateful for all I have given you."

"I am grateful, but you cannot keep me here forever!" She challenged. "God's tits! You think you can tell _me_ what to do?"

With a proud sneer, the red-haired lord hissed under his breath. "Oh, I most certainly _can_."

Without looking at him, she backed toward the door. The suddenness of her steps prompted Pumpkin to totter after her; its squeaking footsteps filling the uncomfortable silence that followed. The creature titled its head upward as its hollow eyes locked upon her. Though its smiling expression remained unchanged, it sensed her low mood and regarded her gently. He watched her step, this time hesitantly, closer to the door – torn between her instinct to flee and her desire to stay. The familiar's loyalty incensed him further. He wanted to assume _he_ was the reason for her hesitation, but uncertainty clouded his judgement.

"I do not think you will. Did every kind word you said mean nothing at all? Am I truly _nothing_ to you?"

The red-haired lord laughed at her imprudence. He parted his lips; deliberately revealing his gleaming white fangs. With a proud scoff, he waved his hand at her like one shooing away an incessant child. "All games must come to an end one day, milady. In time, you will disappear from my thoughts. Whether you meant something or not is irrelevant."

"No, it is not!" Anger surged across her face. Without hesitating, she left her position near the door and stormed back to him, her hair flying behind her as she fought against his callousness. "I know why you play those games! You want to give your existence meaning! You have spent the better part of centuries trying to define what you are and your purpose. Yet, after all this time, you still do not know. You are like a lost little child, trying to find his way in the world…"

"I am not a child!" He snapped, his eyes tinting a shade of red.

Without thinking, he grasped her by the front of her dress and yanked her forward. He lifted her up, forcing her face merely inches from his as though she were a doll. The moment he did so, Pumpkin lashed at his arm with its whip. With barely the flick of hand, he sent the imp flying across the room into a bookshelf on the other side. The little creature hit the object with a loud crash. Books tumbled off the shelf and flew across the floor.

When her gaze broke from him to Pumpkin, he grasped her face with his other hand and forced her to look at him. "You still believe in free will, yet you are bound to _me_! My purpose is to enjoy toying with their lives, just as I have done with yours. It is my nature to hunt and kill your kind. I do not need to find meaning in that!"

"Oh, but you do!" She shouted back, impervious to his attempts to best her. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at him. Her voice fell quiet. "You play those games because you want to _die_, just like I did. It has little to do with your nature, and more to do with a desire to end your lonely existence. You cannot kill yourself, so you wait for someone else to exact their revenge. You must stop seeking out your death through these games. _I do not want you to die, Walter_."

His dark, black pools reflected only her sorrowful face. With a shuddering gasp, he set her down and released his hold. His eyes widened as he staggered back, his lips parting in astonishment at her ability to penetrate his careful guise. Sorrow welled within him whilst he looked at her sad yet hopeful expression. He wanted to believe he had captured her and that she was his to do with as he pleased. Yet, his tainted heart recognized it was she who captured _him_. Despite his feigned indifference, he did not want her to release him.

After hesitating a moment, he gently wiped the tears from her eyes. His unexpected tenderness made her gasp. "I will not take your freedom."

He knew his cruelty was slowly breaking her. If he continued his games, her affection would eventually erode into despair. When his search for the Crimson Stone yielded nothing, a different kind of power lured him. It was a power he did not fully understand, but longed for, nevertheless. His ambition to find the Crimson Stone seemed inconsequential. As he thought on this, he realized the reason was more obvious than expected:

The woman.

After drawing a heavy breath, the words drifted from his lips. "I will end my games, for you."

She lifted her hand and placed it upon his.

His eyes widened when she said gently. "Not for me, Lord Bernhard…for _you_."

A careful smile creased the corners of his lips. With a gentle sigh, he lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips – feeling her warmth as he kissed her fair, smooth skin. Yielding to her tenderness, he swept a low bow before her. When his dark eyes met hers, his throat constricted his voice to silence.

And this time, he welcomed it.

* * *

It did not take him long to find the embankment where the travelers stopped to set up for their next performance. The large open fire at the center of their encampment released a large plume of smoke into the night sky; revealing their whereabouts instantly. Walter emerged through the trees; his dark eyes focused upon the group of men seated around the fire. The two women accompanying them busied themselves unpacking supplies and basting the boar speared on a spit above the flames. Most of the men sat on the ground around the fire, laughing and joking as they waited for their meal to finish cooking. A large colorful tent and makeshift stage was set up a few meters away. As he rode toward the encampment, the sound of his horse's hoofbeats alerted the group. The men ceased their conversations; their eyes watching him approach on horseback with confused interest.

Walter lowered the hood of his cloak and looked down at them, his eyes glinting in the crackling firelight. His imposing form made some of the men shift uncomfortably, whilst others stood up. All of the men wore simple clothing consisting of tunics, leggings, vests, and hats with large, feathery plumes. Though each of them wore a differently styled outfit, their clothing was primarily all red, yellow or brown – or an eclectic assortment of all three to represent their company's flagship colors.

Thinking he was quite possibly a bandit; one man drew his sword. Walter presumed he was the leader of the group, only because he was the boldest of the lot. Most of them were quite young; their beardless faces and jolly nature indicative of a thirst for change. The man who spoke was the only one among them not wearing the company colors. His entirely black outfit consisted of a black tunic, leggings, and tall leather boots. He held the hilt of the blade confidently, his dark brown eyes locking upon the pale, red-haired man and his bay colored stallion.

"Ho, now, who goes there? I pray you, speak!"

Walter eased his horse to a halt and dismounted. He gave the group a short bow, his crimson locks tumbling around his smooth, regal face. The confidence in which he addressed them seemed to relieve their initial apprehension. The ones who stood to greet him bowed in return. He felt their eyes scan his tall form from head to toe; recognizing his affluence from his expensive clothing and gracious mannerisms.

"Good evening, gentlemen – and gentlewomen." The red-haired lord began, his eyes flitting to the women, whose faces reddened the moment his gaze met theirs. He gave them a practiced smile, whilst his calm voice filled the crisp night air. "I was informed that famed minnesingers shall depart from here by tomorrow's eve. Are the lot of you, by chance, such company?"

"Aye, that is us." The man in black replied. He smiled warily and lowered his weapon – though refrained from sheathing it. "And who are you, good Sir?"

"I am one who appreciates your talents." Walter bowed his head. "Thus, I sought you out to learn when you shall perform again. My Lady has, regrettably, never seen a play. I thought she might enjoy watching your company perform before you journey to your next engagement."

"We perform tomorrow afternoon. If you wish to see us, we ask that you return then, good Sir."

"The afternoon is rather…_inconvenient_." He flicked his hand. "I must insist you reschedule."

"We are not interested in rescheduling. Baron Wilhelm von Braun is attending our performance tomorrow. Now, I must _insist_ that you take your leave, Sir."

The red-haired lord reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a large purse. He tossed it their direction and smirked when it landed on the ground with a heavy thump. His dark, penetrating eyes watched the fellow pick it up in haste. The man's once incredulous expression quickly changed to disbelief. Walter flicked his hand, his eyes glinting with amusement. The performer turned to his associates and revealed a large sum of gold coins.

"Now, where were we…" The expectation in his voice left no opportunity for misinterpretation. "That should be more than enough compensation for the favor of your company."

"It is indeed, good Sir." The man smiled. His eyes, and those of his comrades, filled with gleeful excitement. "Perhaps, we shall stay a while longer and hold an evening show three days from hence-"

"That will not do." Walter's eyes narrowed. "My domain is not far from here. I wish for my lady to enjoy a private concert. You will perform _tonight_."

"Impossible!" The man protested, his eyes widening in fury at the lord's audacity. "You have offered us a fair sum, but we are not puppets you can command for your amusement, Sir." Before his companions could object, he tossed the purse back at the red-haired lord. Anger flashed across his face as he added spitefully. "Take your gold and be gone!"

Walter made no effort to catch it; his dark eyes flickering when it landed at his feet and spilled its contents across the ground. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. His face adopted a mask of false disappointment.

"Are you certain your company will not perform tonight?" The red-haired lord asked innocuously.

He tried not to laugh when the man scoffed.

"Aye, I am! Now leave us be! There is nothing you can do to convince me otherwise!"

Walter smirked. "Very well. You have made your decision, now I shall make mine."

"What are you talking about?"

With a shrewd grin, he returned to his horse and mounted it. As he stared down at the black-clad man, the fire's dancing flames reflected in his dark spheres. A low chuckle vibrated from his throat until he replied.

"You are about to understand what happens when you refuse."

* * *

"I am pleased you have awoken so soon, for the show must commence within the hour."

The men staggered to their feet. Their wild, confused expressions pleased him. After giving the group a few minutes to regain their senses, Walter unhurriedly rose from his seat. He peered down at the stage over the balcony's ornate gold railing, his lips forming a congenial smile as if their presence was expected - and it was. For him.

"Welcome to my castle. Do try not to die whilst you are here. I would hate to clean up the mess your corpses would leave behind. Should any of you leave without permission, tonight's performance will sadly be your last."

"Where are we? What the devil is going on here?" The man in black shouted.

"Do not fret. I request only what I have paid for."

"What? We didn't accept your money!"

"Indeed, you did not. That is of little consequence at this point, for you are here, now."

"Go to hell, vile wretch! If you intend to hold us captive, you are sorely mistaken! We are leaving at once and shall fetch the king's guard-"

"As I explained…should you leave, I will have no choice but to end your pathetic lives. Now that such unpleasantries are out of the way, do enjoy a drink…on the house." He ushered grandly to an elaborate gold table set up in front of the stage by the wall. Numerous wine glasses, decanters, and bottles were carefully arranged upon it. "I look forward to seeing what you have in store for the lady and I tonight. I am certain it will be to _die_ for."

"We shall do no such thing!" One of the other men shouted. His voice echoed brazenly across the stage.

He chuckled as though something terribly funny had just occurred. "Such passion! Truly, I cannot wait to see your performance."

The man in the black tunic cursed aloud and stormed down the stage's wooden steps. "I shall take my chances leaving then!"

Walter rolled his eyes. Even though he loved it when they tested him, he wondered what compelled them to do so. As much as it would have entertained him to butcher the man himself, the human was hardly worth the effort. Rather than leave the balcony, he seated himself in one of its velvet chairs and rang the curtain bell. Within seconds, the succubus appeared in front of the black-clad man, her lips pressed into a mischievous grin as she threw her half-naked body against him and wrapped her legs around his torso.

"Come here, handsome." She hissed, her eyes glowing with excitement when the man cried out and recoiled from her touch. Her massive, bat-like wings folded wantonly around his trembling form. "Give me a kiss!"

When the temptress sought to place her lips upon the man's, Walter lifted a hand and snapped his fingers; prompting her to pause. "That is enough, servant."

The concubine's lips formed a childish pout. "Oh, you're no fun! I was just giving him a bit of attention. I wasn't going to kill him…completely, anyway."

Unimpressed by her protests, he tossed his head, the firmness in his tone not faltering for an instant. "Of course. I only wish to convey the consequences these men will face if they refuse. I believe your display was enough. Should any of them suddenly change their minds, do not hesitate to copulate with him to your heart's content."

"As you wish, master." The demoness abruptly released her hold and flew to a balcony along the side of the room.

The creature perched upon the railing; her wings folding behind her scantily clad from with bird-like proficiency. She leaned back, visibly dissatisfied despite her interest. With an amused chuckle, she spread her legs and let one of them dangle over the edge of the railing. Her cold, red eyes traced the men with malicious enthusiasm – waiting for just _one_ of them to dare leave the room.

The black-clad man returned to the group. He stared at the concubine with a kind of terrible fascination Walter had seen many times before. Most men had similar looks on their faces when they met their end in her deadly embrace.

When he was certain no further disruptions would occur, he addressed them once again. He spoke slowly to ensure the men understood that his instructions were not to be taken lightly. "I expect you shall give your best performance tonight. Should you displease the lady, perform below expectation, or give her _any_ indication that something is amiss – my succubus will gladly dispose of you one by one. Do I make myself clear?"

The men nodded silently, the fear in their eyes increasing each passing moment.

With a careful smile, the red-haired lord ushered to the table again. "Now then, please take a refreshment and enjoy the evening."

Walter watched them mull about the stage. After a few moments, the braver, or perhaps more desperate ones, descended the stairs and approached the table. He noticed some of them fill their glass to the brim and down the alcohol as quickly as they could fill their cups. The red-haired lord was content to let them drink as they saw fit, so long as liquid courage promised to reduce apprehension and improve performance. However, should any of them become too intoxicated, his devoted concubine would see to them accordingly. He did not want any to die so long as they fulfilled their purpose. Lady Rohesia would arrive momentarily, and he did not wish for an empty stage to greet her. The performance's sudden cancellation would make him regret her disappointment far more than their unfortunate end.

He heard the lady approaching long before she appeared upon the balcony. He rose from his chair, his eyes glinting with delight the moment he saw her.

With a proud smile, he announced. "The lady is here."

As she approached, her familiar followed like a loyal dog. Its uncanny squeaking steps made some of the performers turn their heads in confusion. The imp's short stature meant they could not see it over the balcony railing; leading some to likely believe the lady herself was responsible for the odd commotion. Had any of them dared to mock her, he may have incinerated them on the spot.

She approached the railing and peered at the colorfully dressed men below. "Lord Bernhard, who are these people?"

The red-haired lord swept a deep bow before her, his red hair cascading against his ashen face whilst he replied. "You said you have never seen a play. I arranged for these minnesingers to perform in my theater. They are pleased to entertain you this evening."

The lady covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes widened in amazement. "You did this for me? I do not know how to thank you."

"Your company tonight, should you wish to join me, is enough."

"I would be honored." She sat down in the luxurious red velvet chair beside his, her eyes bright with excitement.

Pleased by her acceptance, the red-haired lord sat down beside her. He picked up a bottle of wine and filled the two glasses on the small table beside him. With a gracious smile, he passed her a glass, his voice softening as he observed her awed expression.

"Excellent." Then, looking at the performers waiting below, he announced. "Let the performance begin."

"What on earth are we performing?" The man in black asked, giving him a perturbed look. Though his voice was not unpleasant, it tinged with faint irritation. When the red-haired lord's lips curled, the performer removed his hat and bowed. His voice immediately adopted a congenial tone. "Of course, we are happy to perform whatever the lady wishes! Do let us know at your leisure!"

Walter's attention shifted back to the lady. With a renewed smile, he invited her judgement. "We await your decision, Lady Rohesia."

After considering a moment, she returned his smile. "Can you perform _Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart_?"

The man in black nodded. "Yes, milady."

She pressed her hands together in excitement. "Wonderful! I know it was not originally play, but believe it was adapted into one?"

"Yes, milady. Tis' a popular tale we have performed many times."

Walter's brow furrowed. Seldom had any tale escaped his awareness. He shifted in his chair, his dark gaze locking upon her as he whispered in her ear. "What is it about?"

"A brave knight." She replied, her attention remaining upon the performers as they scrambled across the stage in preparation. "It is one of my favorites. When I was a child, my nursemaid used to read parts of it to me before bed. The story is about Lancelot's quest to rescue Guinevere, a beautiful queen abducted and held captive by Meleagant. Lancelot must face many trials...including love, the greatest of all."

The red-haired lord released a low huff. As it was her choice, its fanciful premise did not surprise him. "Very well."

Sensing his skepticism, her attention returned to him. "There is quite a bit of fighting and death though, which may please you, milord."

A low chuckle escaped his throat. "I am certain it shall be entertaining. Life and death are two lovers united by passion but separated by difference."

She gazed at him a long moment, her voice falling quiet when she said. "Indeed."

When the performance began, he initially observed it with bored curiosity. He had met and butchered many brave knights like Lancelot. What was one man against _him_? Despite his reluctance, her fascination piqued his interest. He wondered if there was more to the tale than he realized.

As he watched the man in black playing Lancelot attempt to win Guinevere's love, his attention focused upon Lady Rohesia. The woman leaned forward in her chair, her heartbeat quickening when the actors professed the character's emotions. Though Guinevere was played by the youngest man in the group, as women were forbidden from the stage, it did not seem to inhibit her enjoyment.

Earnestness appeared in her gaze while she watched the scene play out. She withdrew a sharp breath as Lancelot, spurred into tournament combat, acquiesced to Guinevere's desire for him to purposely lose – then win – in order to prove his love. Walter's lips formed a frown. His gaze flitted between Lancelot and the queen. Unimpressed by the queen's indecisiveness, his fingertips drummed the arm of his chair. At first, he blamed the actor – assuming the youth had failed to deliver the queen's lines convincingly. However, as it was part of the plot, he could not think of a rational explanation.

He did not understand why Lancelot surrendered so easily until his gaze drifted to the woman beside him.

As he looked at her lovely face, he shifted uncomfortably. His hand gripped the arm of the chair. Attempting to distract himself with his drink, he took a long, slow sip of wine. After Lancelot killed his last challenger, the queen proclaimed his victory. The youth's voice filled with admiration as the actor playing Lancelot bowed before 'her.' He listened to Lancelot bid the queen a heartfelt farewell when, forced to return to his imprisonment, power beyond their control made them part ways.

Walter leaned forward in his chair alongside her, his dark, penetrating eyes following the actors across the stage with shared earnestness. Together, they watched Lancelot take the axe given to him by Meleagant's sister and chop his way out of his cell. The man in black swung the axe against the imaginary door and journeyed to his final battle with Meleagant. Of course, he could not ignore the tale's veiled brutality, such as Lancelot's slaying of the prideful knight and his opponents' defeat during the tournament.

Unpredictably, Lancelot and Guinevere's relationship captured his attention most. The queen, disinclined to be won so easily, initially rejected the knight. Though the lovers faced many dangers, passion and determination united them. As he watched, his concern for the lovers' fates grew. Fleetingly, he thought of the countless men and women he had cruelly destroyed with his games. Why, now, did their lives hold meaning? As he thought on it, he stiffened in his chair – his eyes widening whilst he reflected upon the lady's words. _I do not want you to die, Walter._ Her tearful plea resonated within his heart. With an uneasy sigh, he lifted his hand and delicately rested it upon hers. When he felt her eyes wander from the actors to him, he focused his attention upon the stage below. He waited for her to pull away, fully expecting she would rebuke his boldness.

Yet, when she did not, his throat tightened. He had not expected her to accept him.

Before he could stop himself, he smiled.

* * *

At the performance's conclusion, Walter rose from his seat swept a bow. Coils of rich crimson hair tumbled around his face and shoulders when he moved. After pausing a moment, he lifted his head and looked at her – noting her contentment when her pale eyes met his dark ones.

His deep, resonant voice filled the air. "Please wait for me in the hall. I shall be with you in a moment."

"Of course, milord." Upon rising from her seat, she gave him a polite curtsy. Then, shifting her attention to the line of performers standing on the stage below, gave them a departing wave. "I wish to thank all of you for your performance." She beamed. "I enjoyed it very much!"

Walter's lip twitched when one of the men breathed a very audible sigh of relief. "Thank God!"

He returned the human's obstinance with a warning glare. No one else dared speak.

The lady bowed her head. "May all of you be safe and well in your travels. Good evening and farewell."

After her departure, his attention shifted back to the group of men standing like a herd of lost sheep on the stage. The red-haired lord cast them an approving lips formed a tiny smirk. "As you have pleased the lady, as well as myself, I have decided to spare your lives."

The man in black returned his announcement with a scathing glare. "_Thank you_, Sir."

Unfazed by the human's cheek, the red-haired lord chuckled. His dark, gleaming spheres stared down at the group with predatory interest. "I imagine, all of you must be tired…"

"Let us out of here you bast-"

A red tint appeared within his eyes while he focused his thoughts upon each of them. One by one, the men collapsed onto the stage's wooden floorboards in a stupor. He could not risk them knowing who he was or uncovering his castle's location. Upon rendering the last one unconscious, he focused his thoughts upon the winged creatures within his domain and summoned them. He would have his gargoyles and frost demons collect and dump them where he had found them, like one returning unwanted possessions.

When he was certain the performers would give his monsters no trouble, he departed the room.

* * *

He found her waiting for him in front of one of the theater's massive windows. She leaned against a Romanesque column near the windowpane, her soft blue eyes gazing at the serene nightscape beyond. Pale red moonlight beamed across the ornate red carpet lining the outer edges of the room. In the moonlight, she appeared almost statue-like. Her serene allure rivaled the agate sculptures of Artemis and Dido he had collected and displayed throughout the theater's hallways. For a moment, he paused atop the steps; somewhat envious he could not know her thoughts.

Though he made not a sound entering, she broke her gaze and turned to him. Her fine lips formed a gentle smile. "The performance was remarkable!" Excitement filled her voice. "Lancelot fought honorably to rescue his true love from Meleagant. Tis' a shame it is merely a story."

"Does it matter?" He descended the stairs and slowly approached, his soft steps barely making a sound. His larger form towered over her.

She looked up at him in amazement, her eyes widening under the intensity of his gaze. "No, it does not." After a brief pause, she continued. "Though you are immortal, when I look upon you, I do not see a devil or a god. I see only you, Lord Bernhard, exactly as you are. I admire you _despite_ your nature."

Suddenly, his voice was trapped in his throat. Though he maintained his confident smile his eyes betrayed him. Unable to face her tenderness, he broke their gaze; veiling his hesitation behind the coils of his glossy crimson hair.

"I am not Lancelot." His voice fell quiet when he remembered the cruelty he had subjected her to.

He likened himself more to Meleagant than Lancelot. Though had he been Meleagant, the story would have ended far differently…

"I do not expect you to be." She answered softly. "I suppose, God shall damn me for it…but it will not change my feelings. Nothing will. Not even _you_."

He returned his gaze to her, his dark eyes glinting in the shadow-cloaked room in which they stood. He wanted to touch her but dare not move for fear his composure would crumble away.

Before he could stop himself, the dreaded words fled his lips. "I do not want you to, Arabella."

Without hesitating, the lady reached up and touched his face. Fully aware of his much taller stature, he bent forward slightly so she did not have to stand on her toes. Her gentle expression captured him completely.

She caressed his cheek, her eyes never leaving his as she whispered. "If that is so…why do you fear accepting them?"

"I fear nothing."

The vulnerability in his eyes betrayed him.

He removed his gloves and tossed them aside. With a sigh, he brought his hand over hers, wanting to feel her warm skin against his. He longed to convey his feelings without speaking, for words alone seemed insufficient. After hearing Guinevere and Lancelot's passionate speeches, he wondered why he struggled to create the prose the characters so boldly expressed. He had been confident in his ability to obtain whatever he wished – whether it was blood, wealth, or social influence. However, he suddenly found himself struggling against a constant tide of uncertainty, doubt and regret. He had never regretted what he was until he looked at her gentle face. She drew the only emotion he feared because he was powerless to control it.

Uncertainty churned within him as he drew closer to her. When his hand began to tremble, he pulled away, his lips pursing as he fought against his instinct to reject her ephemeral beauty. A part of him screamed that he was far superior to such a meager creature; one whose limited life would one day cease to be. Her humanity helped him finally conceptualize the fleeting nature of time. Whereas time once seemed irrelevant and everlasting, the longer he stood with her, the more it threatened to unravel them both.

When he tried to move away, she gently drew him into her embrace. He longed to have her then, to show her, rather than explain, the raw emotion she wrought within him. His carnal desires urged him to take her innocence so he could at last regain a semblance of control. Yet, the temptation to entice her surrender felt inappropriate. As she held him, she lifted her head and looked up at him, her grey-blue eyes never leaving his as he lowered his face to hers. He ran his hand through her long, golden hair, feeling its silky strands between his fingers. His lips trailed to her neck and slowly skimmed her skin. Though she trembled from his unexpected coldness, she did not withdraw. He felt her pulse quicken.

With a sigh, the red-haired lord whispered softly. "Do you truly believe all I care about is power?" He was uncertain if he was asking her or himself.

She rested her head on his chest. "No, I do not – at least, not anymore."

Her eyes drifted to the pendant secured around his neck. The object's black, oval-shaped stone gleamed in the crimson moon's ominous glow. When her hand reached up to touch it, he resisted the urge to withdraw. His dark eyes widened as her fingertips skimmed the stone's smooth surface.

"What is this? I have never seen you without it." When he failed to answer, she lifted her head. "I suppose, as you said, some things are not meant for me to know."

"Some things...but not everything." He took her hand in his, ignoring his impulse to hide his truth while fearing rejection if she learned it.

Coils of thick red hair fell around his face as he lowered his head and brought her hand to his lips; his dark spheres gleaming tenderly in the darkness. As she looked at him, he took greater notice of the contrast between them. Whereas her fair hand still possessed the warmth of life, he winced at the sight of his cold, pallid flesh and claw-like fingernails.

After drawing a breath, he said. "That is the Ebony Stone. It creates the everlasting darkness in this forest so that I never require rest. Its power is greater than almost anything else known to man."

"Did it give you eternal life as well?" She asked.

With a soft smile, he shook his head. "No – though it can, should its master desire it."

Her eyes widened, their pale blue spheres revealing her burgeoning curiosity. "If the Ebony Stone did not give you eternal life, what did?"

Despite his amusement, his voice darkened. "I was born into darkness, the same way you were born into light. While this stone is within my power, I needn't fear man, death or God – for none can harm me after nightfall."

She looked at him gently, at last understanding his sorrow as well as his delight. "Like Siegfried's back, the Ebony Stone is your weakness."

"No." As she stared at him, a red tint flickered in his eyes. Sorrowful anger threatened to break his calm façade. He withdrew a trembling breath. "It is not that simple. Nothing ever is."

"That sounds like something I once told you." Her smile returned, though it soon vanished when she added sorrowfully. "If it is not that…"

"_I have no weakness_." With a flick of his cloak, he turned away from her prying gaze, refusing to allow her to delve any further into his thoughts. His voice regained its former confidence. "We will not speak of this again."

"Why not?" When he scoffed at her insistence, a sigh escaped her lips before she continued softly. "Love is not a weakness, Lord Bernhard."

Anger surged within him as he whirled to look at her again, his lips parting to reveal his deadly incisors. His hands balled into fists, though he dared not approach, for fear that his temper would overcome his patience. However, his frustration increased upon realizing that the mere thought of harming her offended him.

He, who once feared nothing, feared for _her_.

When he finally spoke, his voice lowered to a whisper. "No, but _you_ are."

Without awaiting her reply, he departed the room.


	16. Encore

**Chapter 16**

Another week passed. He wondered if her absence was due to the harsh words they parted on.

It was not until _she_ came to _him_ that he realized his cruelty failed to deter her. Upon seeing her enter the vast room, he stiffened in his chair. Feigning indifference, he nodded in acknowledgement when her grey form swept across the empty space. As always, Pumpkin tottered quickly after her, its squeaking steps echoing off the room's domed ceiling. Her eyes traced his imposing form from head to boot.

"Good evening, Lord Bernhard." Her voice echoed across the room. Without waiting for him to reply, she stopped at the base of the throne's staircase and curtsied. Pumpkin came to a halt close behind her, its shorter frame partially hidden from view like a shadow. "Forgive my absence." She continued softly. "I thought I had displeased you my last visit."

After a deliberately long pause, the red-haired lord cocked his head. Uncertain how to respond, he shifted in his chair. His eyes met hers, the subdued apology reflecting within them betraying his aloof facade. "You could not possibly." His lips formed a small, knowing smirk. "I am pleased by your return."

"You did not come to greet me as you usually do." She observed, the regret in her eyes overcoming her. "Have I offended you, milord?"

"No." He stared back at her, his lips twitching. Remembering their previous conversation, he leaned back and folded his gloved hands together. When her gaze did not lift, unease tremored through him. Uncertain how to proceed, he shifted in his chair. "I will not chastise you for speaking your mind."

"Then why did you not seek me out?" She pressed, "Were you…hiding up here, hoping I would not notice? Tis' unlike you to avoid _anything_, Lord Bernhard."

"I was not avoiding you." He scoffed, his smile fading into a repugnant sneer. "I would never hide from a human, no matter how unimportant they are."

"Oh, I did not realize that is what you thought of me." Her eyes narrowed.

Realizing his error, he shook his head. "Do not be ridiculous! I was merely _resting_ before your arrival. Dealing with you is exhausting, even for one who does not require sleep." He chuckled dryly.

"How kind of you to say." At last, she averted her gaze from him. "Perhaps I shall leave you be this evening. I would hate to wear out my welcome, after all."

The woman's words stung him. Uncertain what to do, for he had never found himself in such a predicament, he slowly rose from his chair. Whereas standing above her on the platform was once satisfying, he now detested it. Before she could say anything further, he bowed deeply – his rich red hair tumbling around his paling face as he attempted to delay responding. Upon straightening, he lifted his head, walked forth, and descended the stairs. As his boots thumped across the carpet, the woman's eyes widened. When he came within a few feet of her, she stared up at his smirking expression.

After thinking on her words, he gave the woman a somewhat apologetic look. The authority in his voice softened somewhat. As he looked down at her, his dark eyes traced her face. "Your absence tonight would disappoint me." He whispered. "Though, I hope no further…_misunderstandings _willoccur henceforth, Lady Rohesia."

Startled by his sudden change in tone, she frowned. Her large, grey-blue eyes once again met his. "Misunderstandings?" When his expression revealed nothing, she continued. "I did not think there were any misunderstandings, milord. You very clearly articulated your view last time we met."

Though he wanted to be satisfied with her response, uncertainty continued gnawing within him. His lips forced a smile. "I am glad to hear it. There is no need for further discussion then-"

"Yes, there is." The injury in her voice made him fall silent. As he stared at her grief-stricken face, she reached into the pocket of her dress. Her voice trembled under the weight of her words. "I wish to thank you for the play, Lord Bernhard. You went through a great deal of trouble on my behalf, for which I am grateful. I did not think I would ever see a play, given the fact Lord Armster does not approve of such things."

"Perhaps," he replied softly. "Unlike you, Lord Armster simply lacks imagination."

When she withdrew a small wooden box, his attention averted from her to the object. The box was simple in design, with a swirling gold leaf pattern engraved onto its lid and decorative gold plating on its corners.

With a gentle smile, she held it out to him. "You gave me the gift of theater, now, I wish to give you the gift of music."

"What is it?" Walter accepted the box, his eyes widening as he turned it over several times, his fingers lightly drumming upon its mahogany surface.

The object was no larger than the width of his palm. Despite its modest appearance, he noted its fine craftsmanship and finish. He grasped the small wooden knob in the middle of the box's front and cranked it. A metallic clinking sound reverberated from within the object. When the crank would turn no further, he lifted the lid back and gazed at the mechanisms inside - a cylindrical metal turnstile and dozens of little pins. The turnstile sprang to life and the little pins began to click.

To his delight, a simple melody filled his ears. It was a slower and somewhat sadder sounding version of a familiar song. The sound captured his attention completely; his recognition of it showing on his face when he said. "This is that tune I have heard you sing to yourself and Pumpkin." After listening to it for a few moments, he added softly. "It is lovely."

Its simple sound echoed across the room, breaking the lonely silence he had grown accustomed to. He held it in his open palm; his dark spheres glancing from the music box to her face. Unable to accept that she was smiling at _him_, he bowed his head.

The lady wrung her hands, her uneasiness showing at the sight of his despondency. Perhaps believing it was not to his satisfaction, she said. "I know it's not much, compared with other gifts you have probably received over the years. I hope I am not being too forward, Lord Bernhard."

"Not at all." He paused, momentarily losing himself in her kind gaze. After drawing a heavy breath, he continued softly. "I shall think of you when it plays."

A hint of red appeared in her cheeks. "I am grateful for the time we have shared." Unable to withstand his gaze, she turned away. "You have everything one could ever dream...freedom, eternity, wealth, and power. What could a simple, mortal creature such as I possibly give _you_?"

After drawing a heavy breath, he took a small step forward. "I do not have everything." He gazed at her longingly, his face paling somewhat more than usual the longer he looked at her. He extended a hand, wanting to touch her, but withdrew it as soon as she turned to look at him. The moment their eyes met, he flicked his cloak and raised his head. His fine lips formed an empty smirk. "I am still searching for something more powerful than what I have. Once I obtain it, I shall no longer have to endure any limits to my power. Humanity will be at my _complete_ mercy."

"Of course." She lowered her head and wrung her hands. "Lord Armster intends to marry me when he returns. You will have eternity to find that which you seek, as I shall no longer be a distraction."

Dismayed by her truthfulness, he shook his head. His voice lowered. "There is…something…I want _far_ more."

His firm objection disputed her assumption. The possibility of her never returning filled him with dread. He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the emotion despite his yearning to know it. Uncertain what to say, he clutched the box tightly in his hand.

"There are _things_…" he whispered, "Even I am unworthy of, despite my power." With a forced smile, he tucked the little object away in the pocket of his cloak. "Come, milady. Let us enjoy some wine tonight. Think not on what has yet to pass. Time is a fickle thing that is ours, for now…even though your lord would not approve."

After a long pause, she smiled. "Ah, he would not at all – and that is precisely why we _should_."

* * *

"What are you doing?" She asked, her eyes widening as he strolled to the railing near the entrance.

Walter looked over his shoulder at her. "Why, feeding Finn, Fisk and Finnegan, of course."

He approached the railing and set the bucket down beside his feet. The rushing waters below refused to yield their secrets to him, despite his efforts to see what lay beneath it. A tiny smirk creased the corners of his lips as he slowly raised his hand. The lady jumped back when the aquatic creatures breached in unison below; their scales gleaming in the cavernous light before they disappeared into the abyss. Seconds later, their heads emerged at the surface; their powerful jaws agape in eager anticipation of their reward. With an amused chuckle, he picked up the bucket and tossed a human arm over the edge of the railing. The arm had not even hit the water before the creatures were upon it. Their throats released loud, excited hisses as they rampantly tore apart the appendage. Blood soaked into the water; briefly tinting its obscure depths red before the current carried it away.

"Where did you get _that_?" She covered her mouth with her hand; the stench of death overcoming her.

The red-haired lord shrugged. His eyes flitted from the water to the lady as if the question was ridiculous. "Another brave warrior failed to impress. Regrettably, his remains are more useful than he was."

She frowned. "You said you would end your games-"

Waving his finger at her, he chuckled under his breath. "I thought even you would be able to discern these remains have been here for quite some time." With a sigh, he tipped the bucket toward her, revealing its half-rotten contents. Flies and maggots swarmed the blackened, putrid remains within it. His nose wrinkled when its unpleasant odor wafted through the waterways' thick, damp air. "You are welcome to inspect them, if you wish."

The woman shook her head; attempting to hide her disgust. "God's bones, no! Lest you forget, that pile of flesh and bone was a man at one point."

"As he is dead, it hardly matters, now." Giving the bucket a dismissive look, he continued. "Like others before him, he was unworthy of meeting me."

"How did he die?" She asked; unease appearing upon her face.

The red-haired lord glanced at the remains. Smirking, he replied. "I found him with a broken pelvis, probably due to the Succubus." He paused, chuckling. Knowing full-well the undeniable injury, he added. "Actually, _definitely_ the Succubus."

Her mouth fell agape. Visibly torn between amusement and disgust, she fell silent. When she made no further objection, he returned his attention to the water.

"_Come__."_ He bellowed.

The amphibians leapt out of the water and landed in front of them. Their yellow eyes stared up at his imposing form as he approached and stood before them, his body shadowing their scaled forms without flinching in the slightest. He looked at them for a moment, somewhat amused by their easily won devotion whilst he reached into the bucket and presented a severed human head. They opened their mouths and popped their jaws in excitement; their yellow eyes focusing upon the object until he extended his other hand and beckoned one of them forward. The creature obeyed and clambered closer on all-fours; its reptilian eyes never leaving him as he gently patted its scaled head. He did not know why the objectionable thing won his fondness – until he saw the woman's tender smile.

With a proud laugh, he tossed the head into the air and watched the them lunge to catch it. The head landed behind them with a wet thud; causing them to scramble madly after it. As each one attempted to snatch it in their jaws, they tossed it around the room like a ball. As the severed head rolled across the rough stone surface, a trail of blood smeared the floor. The woman stared at the grisly sight. Her face lost some of its color.

Chuckling softly, he led her to an old door at the back of the entryway.

Upon entering the small chamber, Pumpkin's frog-headed hand lit up; illumining rows of oak casks stacked on old shelves in its soft light. Each cask was carefully dated and organized. As he led her through the space, his gloved hand lightly danced across the dusty objects. He had collected hundreds over the centuries, all organized and neatly tucked away in the recess of the castle waterways. Though the damp area was far from ideal for wine, a single room close to the entrance fulfilled his requirements. The room was cool, dry and the perfect temperature for his prized collection.

The woman followed hesitantly behind him, observing the old casks with growing interest.

Walter stopped at one of his best blends near the back of the cellar. The cask looked like any other, but his discerning eye knew differently. His wine room was so meticulously organized that he could find exactly what he wanted blindfolded, if need be.

As he picked up one a goblet hanging on a rack beside it, he began confidently. "Ah, here we are. This is one of my best vintages. Would you care to try?"

"I would, though I don't know a damn thing about wine." She looked at the cask uncertainly. "Admittedly, your collection is astounding! Not even the wealthiest lords could rival this. Why, we have enough drink to inebriate God Himself, if need be!"

"I would rather you enjoy it, milady." He bowed his head. "It has taken me hundreds of years to grow this collection. I have nothing but time, after all…and only the best will do." He cranked the cask's tap and allowed a small amount of claret colored liquid to drain into the cup. After filling it, he turned and offered it to her.

Plucking it from his hand like a flower, she brought the goblet to her lips and sipped. To his chagrin, a loud, rasping cough wracked her chest. Shaking her head, she passed the glass back to him.

"What?" Taken aback by her reaction, his brow furrowed, and he inspected the wine-filled goblet. He gently shook the glass, swirling the rich velvety liquid around for a few seconds as he took in its delightful aroma. Confident there was nothing amiss with his beloved vintage, he huffed. "_How_ can you not like it? I aged it _perfectly_. Any wine connoisseur worth their blood would think it the best in Europe."

"Oh, I am certain it is fine, Lord Bernhard. Please do not take offence!" She smiled politely. "You should not waste any on me! I would not know the difference between fine wine and donkey piss."

Walter laughed, remembering a time when he had been just as ignorant. "Are you certain?" He teased, his lips forming an amused grin. "Were I to give you _that_, I am certain you would know it. It has a distinct odor, after all…notes of sourness and a pungent essence-"

"You speak with a great deal of _knowledge_ on the matter." She remarked. "Far more than one _should_."

"Over the years, I have tried wine that would make piss seem appealing by comparison." He smirked. "Of course, you will not find anything of poor quality in _my_ cellar. I am certain I can spare some of my best stock…as nothing for you is ever a waste." His voice softened as he scanned the other casks. He noticed her look at him more intently, her eyes widening upon hearing his unexpected compliment. He withdrew a breath, his eyes flitting uneasily between her and casks whilst he added. "I would be a poor host if I did not find something to your liking. Centuries ago, guests frequently visited this castle. Storing wine was a necessity. Alas, it seems so long ago, now."

"You had visitors?" The curiosity in her voice was impossible for the red-haired lord to ignore.

"Of course." He replied, the confidence in his voice making it seem as if his answer was obvious. "I was a child then. The ballrooms in the keep were filled almost every evening with my kind."

"What happened to them?" She asked, her voice quieting upon hearing his somber tone.

While scanning the numerous oak casks, he frowned. "As your kind grew in number, mine dwindled."

"Would the opposite not happen?" She asked, pressing the issue, despite his reluctance. "Surely, more humans would mean more for your kind to…"

Shaking his head, he whispered quietly. "Not necessarily."

He looked away, trying to conceal his unease as he scanned the numerous shelves. Though he did not speak further on the matter, her observation troubled him. Even he did not want to admit his kind may have reached the end of an era. He preferred to believe the end of _their_ era marked the beginning of _his_. He would find something to her liking, as he could not tolerate the possibility of failing to please her. Even if she did not know anything about the craft, he was eager to share the stories behind each piece he had acquired throughout his existence.

"Now then, this one from 1018 might appeal to you instead, milady. It has a much sweeter taste and came from ancient vines near Florence. The Medici family gifted this cask to me after I disposed of a baroness who had been quite troublesome to their family."

So certain was he that she would like it that he filled the glass nearly to the brim. He passed it to her once again, his eyes drinking in the sight of her smile as she brought it to her lips.

Once again, her nose wrinkled from the taste and she shook her head. "Perhaps, I do not have as refined a palette as you. I'm surprised you would take an interest in human pastimes."

"Why is that?" He asked, his lips curling as he accepted the glass back from her. Unwilling to let it go to waste, he downed the red liquid; relishing its light bodied flavor. "Wine is one of the few things humans make that I enjoy." He chuckled, his eyes flickering as he watched her scan the room.

"Well," Her attention drifted to the numerous shelves and casks around them. "When you initially brought me here, I assumed whatever you had in store for me had little to do with wine."

"What?" He turned around, his face a mask of surprise until he understood her implication. With a broad grin, he drank the remaining wine from the cup and laughed. It had been a long time since he remembered laughing for the sake of it, rather than at another's expense. His deep voice resonated through the room when he regained enough composure. "Did you think I was aging blood?"

"I…" she began, her face turning a shade of red. "I thought it was plausible, given your _unique_ tastes."

Walter shook his head, his laughter escalating as he struggled to find the words to reply. "Unlike wine, blood is best consumed immediately. I have never considered aging it in such a manner! It would take a hundred humans to fill a single cask – not an impossible feat for one such as I but-"

"I understand!" She replied, clearly not wishing to know the details. "Now that I know all of this is actually _wine_, I would love to try more."

"As you wish." He bowed and scanned the casks once again.

He gave her several different wines, all of which she rejected after sampling them. What she did not finish, he consumed on her behalf.

After at least an hour sampling over three dozen options, she stopped and looked behind her. "Where... is…Pumpkin?" Her voice filled with concern upon noticing her beloved companion's absence.

The faint glow from its lantern was visible a few shelves away. As she hurried around a row of shelves to find it, her steps were oddly unsteady. Within seconds, she paused and leaned against a cask. After collecting herself, she shook her head, gathered her wits, and continued onward. Walter followed suit, smiling as he watched her clumsily pick up the skirts of her dress to avoid tripping. Despite her efforts, she grasped the shelves as she hurried toward the small, glowing shape on the floor. Upon sighting the creature lying spread-eagle beneath a cask in a puddle of red liquid, she gasped.

"Pumpkin! Oh no, surely it cannot be!" Nearly frantic, she kneeled beside it. "Please, wake up little one!"

The red-haired stumbled toward the fallen creature, his dark eyes looking at its small form lying on the ground beneath the cask's tap. Barely resisting the temptation to punt it out of sight, he muttered. "The little drunkard helped itself to my best stock."

"Oh, thank God, I thought it was dead!" She breathed a sigh of relief. Before he could continue, she laughed – nearly falling into a shelf as she straightened to obtain a better look at the cask in question.

"It seems its taste rivals my own, for it has consumed most of my 900 cask. That was a _very_ precious vintage." He noted; his voice filling with irritation. He stared down at the reflective blood-red pool surrounding the little imp.

"Where did that vintage come from?" She asked, curiosity momentarily overcoming her anxiousness.

Giving the woman a shrewd smile, for he could not withhold the opportunity to recount the story behind it, he replied. "An impetuous young duke insulted me. I am certain it did not help that he chose to express his opinion before the court. The braggart frequently claimed his vineyard was the best in the region. So, I challenged him to combat. If I was victorious, I demanded his best cask of wine - the one thing he loved almost much as himself. The fool accepted, believing he would have no trouble defeating me. Of course, I proved his assumption incorrect. Though the wine pleased me, it was nothing compared to the taste of his blood."

Uncertain what to say, she shook her head. "I should have known its former owner would meet such an end. I wish to try this one. If it tastes as good as Pumpkin thinks it does, at least the poor man who owned it did not die for nothing."

Unwilling to refuse her, he approached the cask and cranked the handle. When nothing came out, it took him a few moments to realize he had been cranking the tap the _wrong_ direction.

He shook his head; his cheeks flushing when she observed. "Lord Bernhard, are you…well?"

"Whatever do you mean?" He asked, trying to ignore her when he managed to turn the tap properly, at last. He filled the cup to the brim and handed it to her; his unsteady hand causing some of the liquid to slosh onto the floor. At that point he no longer cared, for he only wanted to find something she liked. It irked him to know Pumpkin had selected it instead of him.

The lady took a long, slow sip. After lifting her face away from the cup, she nodded approvingly. "Tis' the best vintage yet!"

"Wine should be sipped, milady-"

"That is not how _you_ have been drinking it." She retorted. "How much have you had?"

He thought on it a moment. Everything seemed hazy – even her face had lost its clarity. With a sigh, he leaned back against the shelf. His larger frame towered over her. After bringing a gloved hand to his chin, he shook his head. "I cannot recall."

"I feel a bit…strange. Tis' not unpleasant though." Before he could offer her his cloak, she sat down on the floor. "Speaking of that, milord…" she began, looking around the darkened cellar. "Where is your chamber pot?"

Walter's eyes widened. Caught off guard by her bluntness, he jerked his head back, repugnance sweeping across his face. "I have no need for such things."

"Well, I do!" Unwilling to let the matter rest, she persisted. "Where do you keep it? Surely, you have had enough human guests to procure one at some point?"

"Most of my guests do not live long enough to require one." He frowned. Uncertain what to say, he pointed at the cellar door on the other side of the room. "You shall do nothing of _that_ sort here."

"I beg your pardon, milord, but if you do not have a chamber pot, I will have no choice but to-"

"_Very well_." He snapped. "I will try to find…something." He staggered around the room, nearly falling into the shelf beside him. After steadying himself, he scrounged the floor between the shelves until, at last, he came across an old wooden refuse bucket. As it was the only thing he could find, he picked it up by its handle, returned to the lady, and set it down on the floor in front of her. With an impatient huff, he turned to face one of the casks. "Take this and…_relieve_ yourself, if you must."

The woman staggered to her feet. Several long minutes passed which, for him, may as well have been hours. He continued staring at the cask in front of him, trying to think of _anything _except whatever was occurring behind him.

To his dismay, she called out. "Milord, I…seem to be having some difficulty. I require your assistance!"

"Absolutely not!" Unwilling to turn around, he sighed. "I gave you what you sought."

"Yes, and now I ask that you hold up my skirts so I may do what nature requires of me. Or, would you rather I get it all over my dress and your precious floor?"

"I will do nothing of the sort!" His frame stiffened. Desperate to avoid the necessary task, he hissed quietly. "If you needed assistance, you should have brought the child with you."

"Well, she isn't here, is she?" The woman snapped, her voice filling with mutual disparagement. Whilst fumbling to lift her dress' many layered skirts, she cursed under breath. "Goddamn it! I can't see in the dark as well as you! Just when I begin to think you are a _decent_ man, you-"

Not wanting to listen to her ranting, the red-haired lord made an abrupt about-face. Uncertain whether to look at her, the floor or something else, he snatched her dress' long train in his fist and closed his eyes. Never in his centuries of existence had he expected to find himself in his wine cellar holding up a woman's dress so she could relieve herself. Despite his feigned disapproval, he could not help feeling _somewhat_ responsible for their predicament. He had not anticipated she would become so easily inebriated – or that he would, as well. Yet, he could not resist smiling in that simple, awkward moment. She did not pretend to be anything except who she was…and in her presence, he did not have to pretend, either.

As he wondered on how he came to be in such a situation, she laughed. "Lord Bernhard, if only you could see yourself now! Your face is as red as your hair!" With a mocking grin, she added. "I better not catch you looking. A lady needs privacy."

"Be quick about it!" He snapped. Then, chuckling under his breath, he added coyly. "So, does this make me a _decent_ _man_? I cannot imagine your 'beloved' enduring this…_humiliation_."

"I daresay he would probably _like_ it." After finishing her womanly requirements, she stumbled to her feet. Smiling, she hurried to the door. "You can open your eyes now, milord. Surely, one as _experienced_ as you has seen a lady piss in a bucket?"

"Regretfully, there is a first for everything." He muttered.

Unsure what to do with the bucket, except that he wished to get as far away from it as possible, he flicked his cloak. He glanced at the imp lying in a drunken, wine-covered stupor on the floor. As tempting as it was, the lady would _not_ approve.

Chuckling to himself, he stumbled after her instead.

The woman unsteadily returned to the waterways' entranceway. The area's cavernous walls enabled him to detect her location, for her steps echoed across the worn stone floor.

As he followed, he swiped an unopened wine bottle from the shelf. Thinking he may need it later, he gripped it by the neck and carried it with him. As his mind was still somewhat clouded by drink, he nearly fell several times as he wandered after her. The last time he was this inebriated, he vaguely recalled waking up next to three naked men.

He watched her make her way to the teleport pad. Tripping over her skirt, she fell forward onto the floor. No sooner had she staggered back to her feet than a man's figure appeared in front of her. With a sharp gasp, she stumbled backward in surprise. Her grey-blue eyes widened as they focused on a tall, heavily armored man. The stranger was clad in thick steel armor from his feet to his neck. His half-shaven face was covered in short grey stubble. The man's tall stature caught the woman off-guard. She looked up at him in astonishment as he stepped into the waterways' dreary atmosphere.

Upon sighting her, the stranger jumped back. His anxious voice resounded through the cavernous space. "You – stay right there! I know not what you are, but if you move an inch, I will unbraid you from head to toe!"

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" When the man's sword came within inches of her throat, she stumbled back. "You must be an absolute _delight_ at parties."

"What does it look like?" As he approached her, she took several steps back, her eyes widening in surprise whilst he continued. "I am looking for my wife! That bastard has her, and I will not stop until I slay him myself! Were you taken captive as well?" Upon seeing her shake her head, his silvery brow furrowed. "You don't…look like a monster."

"That is because I am _not_ one." She studied him a moment, surveying his heavily armored form and the various knives and daggers cinched to his leather waist belt. After a brief silence, she added pointedly. "Those weapons are useless against the one you seek. If you continue this path, you will die in this place."

"I have fought enemies in far greater numbers than he." The man snapped, his eyes stabbing daggers at the woman despite her concern. As he approached, his boots clinked against the stone. "What does a woman know of my capabilities? I have over twenty years of experience on the battlefield."

"I never claimed to know anything about battle." She answered patiently. "Men of all kinds have tried and failed. I do not know your pain, but there is nothing for you to fight for, now. Do not expend your life needlessly-"

"How would you know that?" The man gritted his teeth and continued his slow approach. She slinked around the gated wall and backed slowly toward the center of the room.

Walter tried to recall what the stranger was talking about, for many months had passed since he had played one of his games. Trying to remember, he brought a hand to his chin. In his haze, or perhaps due to indifference, memory evaded him. Whoever it was, he had already done away with them before their would-be rescuer's arrival. His castle was not a hotel for the damned; nor would he show mercy to those who arrived far later than anticipated. The human's presence only served to irritate him. It would not be difficult for him to do away with the pest. He considered translocating right next to the man and gutting him, but the lady's persistence gave him pause.

"There is nothing you can do." She rested her hand on his shoulder. "She cannot be helped, now. You best leave this place and never return. I grieve your loss…had I known, I would have begged him not to-"

"I don't believe you!" He yelled, his anger and rage becoming more evident each passing moment. He wrenched her hand away. "You're…you're _human_! How could you betray mankind by willingly being in this hell whilst others are sent here to die?"

Walter smirked. Like a character in a play, hope still guided the man's fruitless endeavor.

"I'm trying to save them!" She wrung her hands, her lips trembling whilst she answered. "He agreed to end his games whilst I am here. I was too late to save your wife. If I had known, I would have-"

"No more!" He screamed back, his rage and pain devouring her – as well as himself. "If you consort with the master of this castle, you will take me to him! I wish to face him in battle and bring an end to this madness! My dear Marie still lives; the bastard is hiding her somewhere!"

"She is gone, sir." The sadness in her voice immobilized him. With a sigh, she shook her head, her words echoing across the waterways' desolate walls. "I will not take you to your death."

"If that is so, maybe I will take you to yours!"

Before she could speak, he rushed forward and grasped her by the arm. The man's rage quickly dissipated into disgust as he drew his head back, his eyes burning her with their hatred. "You're _drunk_! Is this a game to you, whore? Is my pain – and that of Marie – something you mock and jeer over a drink?"

"Stop! If you harm me, he will-"

"I don't care! If what you said is true, Marie is dead, and I have nothing left!"

The woman tried to kick and hit him, but her efforts were futile, for he was too well-armored to be affected by her blows. Whilst he drew his sword, her arm shot up into the air.

"And what is that supposed to-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a reptilian beast leapt out of the rushing water below. A loud, sickening snap echoed through the room. The creature's razor-sharp teeth snatched the man's head and cracked his skull like a walnut. Blood gushed over the floor as terrified screamed erupted from the man's throat. The amphibian's jaws compressed the fragile bone like a vice trap. A dull crunch echoed off the waterways' dank walls. The man's body convulsed under the creature's relentless pressure. When his skull at last gave way, torrents of blood gushed down his face and sprayed the floor. Low, gurgled gasps fled the man's lips as he stood, unable to escape the creature's deadly hold. With a shrill, whistling cry, the amphibian dragged the man's limp form over the railing. With an unceremonious splash, it returned to the abyss with its catch; its blue-scaled form disappearing like a mirage within the watery depths. A cloud of red colored the dark, murky water until it was swept away by the aquifer's fast-moving current.

After a few moments, she staggered to the back of the room. Her wide, glassy spheres slowly drifted from the railing to the red-haired lord's stunned expression.

She looked at the bottle in his hand. "May I?"

Without waiting for his answer, she snatched it from his grasp, pulled the cork off and took a long, slow swig. After consuming her fill, she shook her head and passed it back to him, eager to forget the horror that occurred moments ago. "Let's…get out of here." She breathed, her words slurring slightly as she turned toward the teleport pad on the opposite side of the room. "I should have…done more…"

With a slow, wistful smile, he grasped her by the arm – steadying her as he replied. "There was nothing you could have done to change his fate."

"And what of mine?" She asked, her words slurring somewhat as she walked slowly toward the iron framework obscuring the area's only exit. Tendrils of long, golden hair framed her face as she lowered her head. After thinking on his words, she whispered bitterly. "Will I meet a similar end one day? Will you drink from me as you have those wine casks? Or, will you lock me away down here to forget the only human you could not bring yourself to kill?"

With a sharp gasp, he stopped. Upon noticing her sorrowful expression, his lips twitched. "I do not want your blood." When he could not find any more words, he sighed softly. "You will always be free to come and go as you please. Even if…one day…you do not return. Though I envy your freedom, I shall not take it."

"Milord, how am I freer than you?" She asked, her eyes widening as she gazed up at his solemn face. "I am merely a human woman."

He smiled wistfully, chuckling to himself. As discreetly as he could, he bowed his head – hiding his shame behind the coils of his thick, red hair. "Not to _me_, Lady Rohesia."

Smiling softly, she took his hand in hers. While looking up at his face, she whispered. "I wanted to die, once. I nearly did…but you changed my fate. Perhaps, I can still change yours?"

"Perhaps." His hand tightened around hers.

Saying no more, he escorted her out.

* * *

He reappeared midway down the hall between the teleport room and the castle entrance. The woman was running so determinedly that she nearly collided into him. Her eyes widened when his large, imposing form emerged from the shadows. Bored of their game, for she was far too easy to catch, he snatched her by both arms and picked her up.

Unwilling to admit defeat, she beat her fists against him. "You cheated! You are a _cheater_!"

"I am _not_!" He protested, laughing when she stuck her tongue out at him like a petulant child. "As you did not set any rules, I have caught you as I said I would. I was even gentlemanly enough to give you a modest head start."

"Put me down! During the last round, you turned into a bat! Now _this_?" Flailing and kicking, she laughed. "Unlike you, I cannot teleport like goddamn ghost-"

"Not until you admit defeat," he replied mockingly.

"Never!"

"Very well. You are _mine_, then." Like a bird of prey, he swept down the hallway, taking his captive, and the wine bottle, with him. Still very much inebriated, he stumbled through the Pagoda. Upon reaching the first grand ballroom, he set her down, took another swig from the bottle, and strode inside.

The soles of his boots thumped across the room's glass-like floor. Upon noticing his reflection in the perfectly polished granite, he studied his unusual pale skin. Soft beams of moonlight filtered through the room's arched windows; illuminating his tall stature as he stood within its vast darkness. His gaze flitted to the status of identically carved stone angels lining the spaces between its numerous arched windows; their wings carved into the wall and outstretched in perfect arcs. Despite the beauty surrounding him, his focus shifted once again to the woman. He noticed her hurry after him a few moments later; a skull tucked under her arm. Before he could ask what she was doing, she tossed it his direction, her lips pressing into a broad grin.

Her somewhat slurred words drove back the room's oppressive silence. "I know I shouldn't touch your antiques…but his helmet looked so _silly_ I couldn't resist! I wanted to…try it on…but his head fell off when I touched it!"

Walter caught the helmet-clad skull. He observed it a moment, noting the human skull's brown, crumbling façade. Like all things, time had taken its toll on the creature. The wretch's once polished gold galea helmet was dull and worn. The helmet's decorative red horse-hair plume was tattered and frayed. He stared at the skull; noting its crumbling eye sockets and missing teeth. Unlike the legionnaire to whom it belonged; he was untouched by the ravages of time. A slow, wistful smile creased his lips. Longing to preserve her like one of his antiques, he studied her closely. Though he could give her immortality, he feared compromising the very things he admired most about her. As he thought on this, his hands tightened around the skull. One day, she would cease to be, leaving behind only memories. Her voice and laughter would play repeatedly in his mind like the music box. Whereas she would drift away, he would remain unchanged and _profoundly changed_ simultaneously.

Forcing a smile, he tossed the helmet-clad skull back to her. "You are no better than the child!" He remarked, his tone lightening despite his unease as she caught it. "Unlike myself, and wine, most things do not age well."

"At least being older than dust has not affected your self-esteem." While passing the helmeted skull from one hand to the other, loud clipping footsteps prompted her to turn around. Her mouth nearly fell agape upon sighting the Roman soldier's body enter the room. The creature's skeletal body clicked, as if in irritation, as it rushed toward her. Though it did not attack, it extended its arms; eager to snatch the object from her hands.

Turning to the red-haired lord, she threw the head in his direction. Surprised by the creature's determination, she remarked. "Goddamn, now I feel like a _brute_! Isn't it a bit…mean-spirited…of us to tease it like this?"

"You needn't trouble yourself, Lady Rohesia." Whilst clutching the helmeted head in one hand, he smirked. "That legionnaire likely killed a great number of innocents when it was alive. War, as you know, is hardly ever confined to a battlefield. I am sure it can withstand this minor inconvenience."

"I suppose." She mused, her eyes following the creature as it clumsily tried to retrieve its head from the red-haired lord's grasp. Returning his smirk, she began. "So, tell me, what was Jesus like? I love studying history. If you are as old as you imply, I would not mind a first-hand account about our Lord and Savior."

Like one ridding themselves of garbage, he tossed the head back to her. When she made no effort to catch it, he rolled his eyes. The helmet hit the floor beside her with a loud, echoing bang. After taking another swig of wine, he answered sarcastically. "Ah, Jesus. I did not approve of his politics, so we went our separate ways. Judas was far more charismatic."

"If you talked with him, it's no surprise he hung himself," she replied, with a sly smirk.

Walter snorted. "Unlike Judas, I have no regrets – except thinking you could catch worth a damn."

Scoffing loudly, she snapped. "I missed on _purpose_. Like your creatures, I have a mind and will of my own, Lord Bernhard."

"Do you now?" He laughed, his voice carrying across the room. As she marched toward him, the legionnaire clambered to retrieve its head. Whilst watching the creature pick its helmet-enclosed skull off the floor, he shook the wine bottle at her with mocking contempt. "After all this time knowing you, I had no idea! Thank you for graciously enlightening me, milady. No wonder you do not listen to a damn thing-"

"What?" Her wide, grey-blue eyes gleamed in the moonlight. "You are impossible to listen to! Tis' like hearing my great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather recount what he ate for breakfast 700 years ago, as if anyone gives a damn!"

"You proved my point by interrupting me."

"Clearly, I have not consumed enough wine to tolerate you then!" With a purposefully loud huff, she marched toward him. No sooner had she begun approaching, than her shoe caught the long skirts of her dress. Stumbling forward, she cried out. The red-haired lord's loud, breathless laugh prompted the woman's cheeks to flush. Uncertain how to respond, she picked up the skirts of her dress and continued onward with saint-like determination. "Goddamn it! At least you do not have to wear _this_!"

"No, though I did, once…" He mused, his smirk broadening.

"I do not believe you!" Folding her arms across her chest, she lifted her head and glared. "Impossible! Why on earth would you…?"

"Why not?" He replied, chuckling under his breath. Waving her away, and eager to continue toying with her, he added nonchalantly. "The _best_ part of all this is, you cannot prove if I am spinning tales or speaking the truth. What is that common excuse I hear humans use all the time? Ah, yes – _I was young and needed the coin._"

"You are impossible!" She fumed, torn between anger and amusement. "Oh my, those brave enough to look upon _that_ must have been _almost_ as desperate as you."

The red-haired lord huffed in response, eyeing her with mutual amusement as he muttered. "Clearly, marrying _you_, that pale wretch shall have more than he bargained for."

"Speak for yourself." With a slow, gentle smile – and somewhat unsteadily – she extended her hand to him. Her soft, grey-blue eyes met his. Though much smaller than he, she was unafraid.

Uncertain what she wanted, he set the bottle down on the floor and accepted her hand. Whilst gently guiding her toward him, he stared down at her soft, lovely face. He admired her lack of fear. It was unlike him to trust in humans. Time and again, they had proven themselves unworthy confidantes. Had she wanted to, she could have easily betrayed him to the church. Yet, as she was almost as skeptical of God as he, they confided in one another. He was grateful for the precious moments immortality nearly made him take for granted.

The Ebony Stone reminded him of their contract. When its power pulsed through him, he once again rejected its unwarranted desire. _Not tonight_.

He wrapped his arm around the small of her back, his gentle touch assuring her he meant no harm. Though she did not require assurance, he feared she would uncover the grotesque demon lurking behind his disguise. He felt her eyes meet his; searching him for answers time, memory and his heart refused to yield.

As they slowly waltzed around the room, she leaned closer to him. Her voice softened under his gentle touch. "You told me you were born into darkness. Surely, if you were born as I was, you have a mother and father?"

His frame tensed. "Of course."

"You know as well as I, one's blood – and family – is everything to some." She whispered. After hesitating a moment, she asked. "What were they like?"

A long silence passed. He guided her unsteadily toward the windows, his breath hitching in his chest as moonlight illuminated her gentle expression. When he gave no reply, she bowed her head, curtaining her shame behind the locks of her golden hair. "Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you discomfort."

He chuckled dryly, the humor absent from his voice. "Given how much you miss your family, I cannot fault you for asking." He paused. "I did not know my father. I do not think my mother did, either."

"What do you mean?"

"My mother had many…'suitors.'" A slow, knowing smirk creased his lips. "At least, that is what she called them. What does it matter? T'was so long ago, her memory…escapes me."

Though she seemed to doubt his words, she slowly nodded. "This castle is beautiful but…so very empty, milord." Her eyes darted around the room, admiring and lamenting its vastness. After pausing a long moment, a broad, excited look overcame her wistfulness. "What if _you_ hosted a party _here_? It would be like the times of old you described, when your kind once visited this castle and-"

"Are you _mad_?" He huffed, withholding the urge to laugh. "I enjoy my castle's peacefulness. Times have changed. I could never…"

"Yes, times _have_ changed." She affirmed, her confidence amusing him. "I thought you loved being the center of attention? Is it not boring sitting around on your dusty throne all evening?"

Walter scoffed. "Is that what you think I do when you are not here?" His eyes narrowed. "I enjoyed my games until an _impetuous young woman_ convinced me to end them."

"What if you were to invite people here…and _not_ kill them?" She asked, her excitement nearly overwhelming him. Before he could answer, she picked up the skirts of her dress and hurried to the wine bottle a few feet away. Whilst picking it off the floor, she beamed. "Perhaps, humans would be _more_ entertaining if you kept them _alive_? I am certain many would find your castle, and its master, as…" Pausing a moment, she added quietly. "_Charming_…as I do."

Upon hearing her words, a loud, roaring laugh escaped his throat. "Charming? You are far more intoxicated than I thought!" He brought a gloved hand to his chin. As the woman downed another swig of wine, he shook his head. He raked a hand through his thick red hair, his voice softening as uncertainty overshadowed his delight. "Though I love challenges, if anyone discovered my nature…"

"How would they?" She rolled her eyes. As she staggered back to him, wine in hand, she added. "Unless you decide to walk around biting people like a stray mutt, you needn't worry. Though I admire your creatures, surely you could ask them to move to a different area of the castle?"

"Of course." He replied. "I can _command_ them to do whatever I wish – such as destroy my 'guests' worthless souls, should I grow tired of them."

"Pish!" She waved him away, the wild motion of her arm causing wine to splash up from the bottle and onto the floor. "There's no need for rudeness! I know humans can be a bit _much_ but most mean well. You would likely gain many admirers, were you to play host for an evening…_and_ let them live to talk about it. Why, like wasps, the court would absolutely be buzzing."

"Does that include your lord?" He smirked, laughing when she lifted her arm; daring him to say another word, lest he wish to receive a wine bottle to the face. Unimpressed by her threat, he took the wine from her hand and brought it to his lips. "I will consider your suggestion. Perhaps, tis' time I pursued other interests…"

He made a mental reminder to himself that before the party, he would have to double check all the corners of the castle to ensure he had not forgotten about any previous 'guests' he had invited beforehand for his games. Remembering her observation during her first visit to his castle, he smirked. As per the lady's suggestion, he would give the castle entrance 'a good dusting.'

They sat on the floor against the wall, her head resting on his arm. The woman's long, golden hair spayed around her across the floor. Moonlight spilled across her face as she looked up at him, her crystalline eyes focusing upon his scarlet hair and dark, cryptic eyes. Content with her closeness, he downed the last bit of wine from the bottle and set it clumsily down on the floor beside him; causing it to fall over and roll away. He watched the dark colored bottle move across the ballroom's reflective floor until it lost momentum.

"If you could go anywhere, or see anything, what would it be?" She asked, shifting slightly so she could look up at his face.

"I already can go anywhere." He smirked, amused by her suggestion of limitation. "I have seen many exotic lands. That question is better suited to you."

"Surely, you have not seen everything?" She questioned, ignoring his attempt to focus the conversation back on her. "Come now, there must be _something_."

After a pause, his fine lips formed a wistful smile. He gazed at the obscure sky through one of the ballroom's arched windows. There was _something_. He had never articulated it before, as he had no one to speak on it with. Realizing the extent of his solitude, his throat tightened. For the first time in memory, he could confess his truth without judgement.

Thinking on this, his voice lowered to a whisper. "I have not seen the sun." A heavy, grief-filled sigh wracked his chest. As he looked at the star-dotted sky, his thoughts drifted to the woman. She saw things he could only dream of. The glow of morning light as it spread across emerald fields. The beautiful, painted colors of sunset. "Perhaps, you could…enlighten me on what it is like?"

Sensing his longing, she gazed at him. Her voice softened. "I have not really 'seen' the sun, like I have seen a painting or someone's face. I suppose you would not know this, but if you...or humans, I should say, look directly at the sun, your eyes suffer a great pain. To understand the sun, tis' better to describe how it feels."

"And how is that?" he asked.

"It is warm and beautiful."

"I see…" He whispered. "…Like you."

Her eyes widened. When she only smiled in return, he drew her into his arms. He lifted his gloved hand and caressed her cheek. He longed to feel her warm, soft skin against his and know every part of her. Coils of lush, red hair fell around his face as his hungry lips sought hers.

A low, gasping breath escaped her. Then, without warning, she hunched forward and vomited on his coat and boots.

Walter stared; trying to understand what had just occurred. After looking in dismay at his vomit-covered boots, he staggered to his feet – ignoring the liquid dripping down his coat – and lifted her into his arms. The woman's eyes fluttered closed. Vomit and wine trickled down her mouth and across the front of her dress. A dry chuckle vibrated from his throat. Barely conscious of it, he smiled.

Their time at an end, he carried her out of the ballroom, whispering as he went.

"Good night, milady…"

* * *

Upon arriving at the manor, Walter dismounted his horse. The lady's small, grey mare - its silvery coat dotted with sweat - stood beside his massive stallion. Since she had taken Selene to visit him, he had to manage the reigns of both equines during the journey back. The horses had to move at a swift gallop to ensure he could return to Eternal Night before dawn.

The woman, far too inebriated to ride the mare back, rested across his lap in the saddle. Clicking softly with his tongue, he grasped her mare's bridle and led the beast to the stable boy. Despite the late hour, the youth - accustomed to the lady's unusual late-night visits – had awaited her return. After passing the reigns into the boy's waiting hands, he reached into the pocket of his coat, flicking the vomit off his sleeve, and slipped him a few gold coins. Somewhat regretful of his filthy appearance, as he did not have time to change prior to departing, he was thankful the boy did not dare ask what happened.

Carrying the vomit-covered woman in his arms, he turned toward the manor. With as much pride as the situation allotted, he lifted his head and strode toward the entrance.

Hearing his footsteps, the lady's eyes slowly opened. Somewhat recovered from her stupor, she looked up at him. Horror replaced her once serene expression as she gasped. "What happened? God's buttocks! You are covered in vomit!"

"So are you, milady." He smirked. "Alas, t'was a small price to pay."

"Forgive me." She breathed, her face paling somewhat as she lifted a hand to her brow. "I…feel…horrid."

"About me or the wine?" He asked, chuckling, despite himself. "Until the vomiting, I very much enjoyed your company."

"Though I feel as if I was kicked in the stomach by a horse, I regret nothing." She smiled. "Next time we drink, I will have to remember to pace myself…"

"Next time?" He scoffed, trying not to laugh when she blinked in response. "For now, you best focus on finding a servant to run you a bath. You reek of vomit."

"And you reek of arrogance." She laughed.

Upon arriving at the door, he gently set her down. Still somewhat inebriated, she grasped his arm and leaned into him, her smaller frame contrasting his tall, imposing one. As it was somewhat cold that evening, he lifted his cloak and wrapped it around her back. "Rest a while…" Bending slightly, he whispered in her ear. "I will return for you. There is…something I wish to discuss when I see you again…"

"Oh?" She asked, her eyes widening in surprise. "Is it about the party?"

"No." He looked away, trying to determine how to broach the subject without disclosing far more than intended. Drawing a breath, he slowly lifted his hand to her cheek. "Something…far more important." Silence overcame him. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from her face and raked it through the coils of his thick red hair. He lifted his head, his stance tensing somewhat as he added softly. "It can wait, milady."

Somewhat confused, but too exhausted to argue, she nodded.

As he opened the door for her, she smiled. He followed her inside and closed it quietly behind them, praying that Anneliese would help clean her up before anyone noticed. After hurrying to the manor's grand staircase, she ascended a few steps – then paused. The skirt of her long, grey dress spilled down the steps behind her. Fortunately, despite her lethargy, she avoided catching her feet in the cumbersome fabric.

Her soft voice drifted through the eerily silent entryway. "I look forward to our next meeting, Lord Bernhard."

The red-haired lord swept a low bow, his barely audible voice whispering in reply. "As do I, Lady Rohesia."

Upon straightening, his eyes widened.

Lord Armster's unmistakably pale image drew his attention. The crusader stood at the top of the stairs, his face a mask of rage. The recognition must have shown upon the red-haired lord, for she immediately whirled to see what he was looking at. Before she could utter a word, the pale nobleman swiftly descended and halted a few steps above her. His silvery frame towered over her like a hawk.

"Where were you? I waited for _hours_!" Noticing the soiled front of her dress, he seethed. "What the hell happened? You're a mess! What did he do to you?"

"Do to me?" She repeated, her voice acquiring a sharpness Walter was unused to hearing. Anger flashed across her face when she answered. "Why, nothing of course! Lord Bernhard and I shared a few too many glasses of wine, that's all."

"That is _not_ nothing!" The white-haired lord hissed, his eyes flitting momentarily from her vomit-covered dress to the red-haired lord standing silently nearby. Upon seeing the other lord's somewhat bemused expression, his attention returned to her. Scowling, he continued sharply. "You were _drinking_?" He paused, his nose wrinkling as he sniffed. "I should have known he would use drink to corrupt you. You have no idea the pain you caused me when I thought you had-"

"_What_?" She interrupted, her voice rising with her lord's ire. "_Sarded_ him? Oh please, I am not a whore, Zaviean. As if you would know anyway, given your _inexperience_."

"I hate to interrupt…" The red-haired lord glared at the pale nobleman. As dawn was fast approaching, he had not the time for quarrels, despite his dislike of the other man. "The lady is tired…and it seems you are, too, Lord Armster. I shall take my leave."

"Not yet!" The pale lord snapped, his piercing, steely gaze freezing the other lord in place. Looking at the woman once more, he shook his head, his voice softening somewhat. "I feared for you, Arabella. You do not understand the things I endure for _you. _Despite my efforts,you could not even be bothered to greet me upon my return."

The woman's eyes widened. Trembling somewhat, she grasped the staircase's railing to steady herself. Returning her lord's scowl, she replied. "I had no idea you had returned! I assumed you were not due back for at least a fortnight."

"My company was victorious once again." He snipped. "Given my success, I was permitted to return early. Forgive me for hoping you would be glad."

"_Congratulations_!" Walter smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with mocking approval. "I was just about to organize a welcoming party for the conquering heroes. Too bad I forgot to invite you."

"I have more important matters to attend to, Lord Bernhard." The pale nobleman retorted, giving the red-haired lord a disgusted look. After pausing a moment, a tiny smirk appeared on his face. Lifting his head, he flicked the silk-like strands of his ivory hair away from his face. His icy spheres returned to the lady. While gazing at her stricken face, he continued tenderly. "Becoming her husband will be my _greatest_ success of all."

"And my greatest regret," The lady countered with a grief-filled sigh. Tendrils of long, blonde hair framed her face – hiding her sorrowful expression. "I beg your reconsideration, milord. What of my family? Will you invite them to the wedding or are you afraid they will learn your white façade hides a corrupt and desperate soul?"

Injured by her words, Lord Armster shook his head. His voice fell quiet. "As you are intoxicated, I will overlook your lies. We will discuss the matter later. Until then, get thee to bed. Lord Bernhard and I must have a word."

Refusing to look at him, she slowly ascended the staircase. Within moments, her grey form disappeared.

As Lord Armster descended the staircase, his eyes never left the red-haired lord for a second. He ushered the other lord into an adjacent sitting room. Walter stared after him, his eyes narrowing as he followed, not giving a damn about the man's impatience or anger.

As soon as they entered, Lord Armster slammed the door shut.

"What is she to you?" The white-haired lord accused. His dark blue eyes narrowed as his lips curled into a disgusted sneer. "My betrothed is not a plaything for your entertainment, Lord Bernhard. Should I discover you deflowered her, I will ensure you never see the light of day again!"

"That will not be an issue, Lord Armster." Walter returned the man's warning with a smile. "The lady's womanhood is safe under my protection."

"Be that as it may, I cannot permit this to continue."

"And why is that?" Walter's smirk vanished instantly.

"I hear she spends a great deal of time at your estate – far more than is appropriate. I should have never permitted her this freedom, for she knows not the cunning and lustful nature of men."

"And I suppose you do?"

"I intend to ensure she does not become a fallen woman. I don't want any harm coming to her reputation."

"Or to yours, perhaps." With slow, cautious steps, he approached the other lord. As he walked, the white-haired nobleman stepped quickly back, his sapphire colored eyes widening as his apprehension grew. Within moments, Walter succeeded in backing the other lord against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Lord Armster hissed. He tried to look for an escape, but the red-haired lord's imposing form made the effort futile. The nobleman's already pale face whitened even further, were it possible.

Walter heard the human's heartbeat quicken. He lowered his face to the man's cheek, skimming the pallid skin with his lips. His other hand caressed the man's pearly white hair before sliding to his armored chest, then lower, still. Lord Armster tensed in response. The nobleman's eyes fixed upon the other lord as the red-haired tormentor stroked him gently. The pale lord gasped and struggled to free himself, only to no avail. He tried to reach for the sword sheathed behind his back, his fingertips skimming the hilt until Walter grasped his hand and pulled it away. With a low chuckle, the red-haired lord pressed himself against the man's vulnerable frame. To his delight, Lord Armster fell still. The man's piercing sapphire eyes looked up at his face, the hatefulness within them slowly receding. As they stood together, concealed by the night's obscuring shadows, Walter wrapped his arms around the other lord's armored frame. The human's quickening heartbeat revealed it would not be long before he could peel away his protective shield.

"I know the lustful nature of men." The red-haired lord continued, his voice lowering as his hunger for the man's blood, and body, grew. "Though you think you have power over me, you have none."

Yearning filled him as he gazed at the man's pallid form, his dark eyes tracing the lord's flawless white skin and hair. Despite his aversion of Lord Armster, he could not resist the temptation to petition the crusader's surrender. The human had been deprived of love so long, being wanted by someone – even _him_ – may have appealed to his darkest desires. He knew what the human wanted, despite the man's efforts to resist. Though the man claimed unwavering devotion to God, war's horrors had weakened his faith, rather than strengthening it.

Sensing this, Walter did not need to kill the man to ruin him.

As God had banished his tainted soul from heaven, he would ensure Lord Armster would not be permitted to enter, either. Being had by another _man_ would undoubtedly shatter the pale nobleman's fragile mind. Though religious conventions did not bind him, the crusader's devotion to God made him unable to escape judgement. While damning Lord Armster's soul to hell, the man's body would gratify his carnal desires. The arrangement was so perfect he was dismayed he had not thought of it earlier.

His gloved hand glided effortlessly across the man's arousal, the yearning in his gaze questioning Lord Armster's resolve. "Are you afraid no one wants you?" His lips formed a tiny grin as Lord Armster's muscles tensed. "Tis' natural to want what is forbidden. Months on the battlefield surrounded only by other men must create unbearable temptations."

"What do you know of my desires?" The white-haired nobleman hissed through gritted teeth. Despite his sharpness, breathless gasps fled his lips. Like an instrument of the red-haired lord's will, he slowly yielded to the other lord's gentle caresses. "God…does not sanction this! You will…release me...!"

Walter chuckled when the man hardened under his touch, his dark spheres easily penetrating his indifferent mask. "Though God does not sanction this, your body does."

"That's…that's not true!" The pale nobleman rasped; his voice nearly lost. Pleasure slowly overcame his disgust. A low, breathless moan escaped his throat when the red-haired lord's caressing hand refused to relent. His dark blue spheres widened; their coldness receding from the other lord's gentle coaxing. After drawing a heavy breath, words finally freed themselves from his throat. His rage faded to a mournful whisper. "Forgive…my weakness…"

Walter was unsure if he was confessing to him or God, for the man's visage revealed nothing. Unwilling to allow the crusader the chance to recant, he drew the human's silvery-white form closer. The moment Lord Armster's sapphire eyes met his, he whispered. "I know you have longed for someone to touch you, willingly. The women of the east will not lay a hand upon you, whether you pay for their pleasure or demand it." He lowered his face next to the pale nobleman's, his cold breath skimming his ear. "Cast your fear aside and lead yourself into temptation. Give yourself to _me_, and I will show you the illicit pleasures God denies you."

A breathless chuckle escaped the white-haired lord's lips. With a snarl, his gauntlet-encased hand grasped the other lord by the front of his coat. Though Walter was far larger than he, the crusader managed to shove him back with surprising tenacity and strength. His voice, once soft, rose with restrained fury. "Do not _ever_ touch me like that again." He tossed his head, curtaining his discomfort behind the silky strands of his long, ivory hair. Nearly trembling, he reached for the sword sheathed on his back.

As his fingers wound around the hilt, he gave the man a glare so severe death itself may have retreated from it. "A solider in my company tested my devotion to God in a similar manner. He came to my bed and tried to seduce me, despite my objections. I will not stand for anyone distracting my men from God's mission – even one of my own. So, I thought it prudent to use him as an example for the consequences of lechery. I severed his manhood and cast him into the desert to rot while the rest of my company watched. Should you try that again, perhaps you will share his fate, Lord Bernhard."

Unafraid of the man's useless threat, Walter snatched the other lord's arousal firmly in his hand. The pale nobleman's frame stiffened; the severity in his face waning as the red-haired lord whispered. "We are not in the east, Lord Armster."

"I shall not be had by _you_. Whereas two men create nothing, man and woman fulfill God's decree for children."

"God's decree, or yours?" Walter released his hold and stepped back.

Disgust washed across his face the longer he observed the pale human's unwavering resolve. Whereas the human used God to justify his actions, he did not need an invisible deity's approval. Power enabled him to do as he pleased, when he pleased. He answered to no one except himself. Lord Armster's unwillingness to be broken so easily may have increased his desire to have him. The human's obsession with Lady Rohesia soured his mood instantly. Were it not for her, the red-haired lord would have ripped the human's jugular out.

"Does it matter? I do what God asks of me." The white-haired lord replied. At last free of his adversary's grip, he withdrew his hold upon the sword.

"And what does your God ask of the lady?" Walter hissed, his eyes burning the pale devil.

"To be my wife, for motherhood is woman's highest calling." A tiny smile creased the corner of the man's lips.

"Assuming she will have you." Though the lady was unbothered by Lord Armster's unusual paleness, he could not refuse an opportunity to remind the man of his stigma.

Unfazed by the other lord's implication, the man's steely dark blue eyes narrowed. He flicked his hair, his smile broadening as he replied coldly. "If not, I will have her, when the time comes."

"Perhaps, it never will." The red-haired lord's hand balled into a fist.

Recognizing his vulnerable position, the pale nobleman slinked away from the wall. His dark blue eyes surveyed the taller lord from head to toe with hawkish enthusiasm. As if aware of the red-haired lord's unpredictability, his gaze locked upon him in subtle challenge. "I hope you enjoyed the lady, for this is the last time you shall see her. I do not know what kind of game you are playing, Lord Bernhard, but it ends - now."

Walter returned the man's obstinance with a wry smirk. His voice filled with feigned disappointment. "How…regrettable."

"For you, I imagine." The white-haired lord hissed. "Should you dare try obtaining her, I will hunt you down and dismember you, myself."

A pathetic human would not deny him that which he desired. His superior power ensured _nothing_ could stop him from doing as he pleased…not even the pale devil. Nevertheless, Lord Armster was not completely bereft of authority. The man would not hesitate to send the woman away if it suited him. As he knew not where the other lord would send her, he thought better of testing the man further – for the time being.

With a low chuckle, he swept toward the doorway, his dark, penetrating eyes rebuking the man's threat like a horse flicking away a buzzing fly. "I invite you to try." He whispered. "Until that time, I bid you good night, Lord Armster."

Without acknowledging the man further, he glided out of the room.

* * *

Upon exiting the manor, he mounted his horse and rode to the stables near the edge of the property. It did not take him long to find the stable boy he sought. The youth, rake in hand, was wearily cleaning the barn. Fifteen silver horses poked their heads through individual stall windows. Their fine muzzles dipped into steel buckets of food and water hanging from their doors. As the horses consumed their evening meal, the boy tirelessly cleaned every piece of straw in sight. The urgency in which he worked professed a grim familiarity with his master's intolerance.

Walter drew his horse to a halt and waited.

Sighting the stranger, the boy set the rake down and went to him. As soon as Walter's dark eyes fell upon the youth's small frame, the boy removed his hat and bowed. "Good evening, milord."

Walter observed the youth a moment. His eyes silently traced the scar on the lad's cheek. After pressing his lips into a knowing smile, his deep voice commanded the boy's undivided attention. "Why are you awake at this hour? Surely, your lord allows you to rest?"

"Lord Armster demands I clean his stable every day. He gets very angry if any chores are left unfinished."

"Your master is quite demanding." Walter mused, his voice drifting through the darkness. When the youth said nothing, he added carefully. "I suppose, he pays you very little, despite expecting so much. Perhaps, you would like to leave his service?"

"What do you mean, milord?"

"I request your assistance with a small matter. Should you prove reliable, I will reward you most generously."

"What matter is this, milord?"

"You shall meet me at the well bordering the estate. There, I will bestow you a letter, which you will leave in a discreet location. You will inform Justine where she may find it, so that she can deliver it to your master's lady. Should the lady wish to respond, you will have Justine leave her letter in the same location. You will bring it to me after nightfall."

"I must decline your offer, milord. If my master discovers this, he will punish me severely."

"If you are wise, you needn't worry."

"But, milord-"

"Would you rather be your lord's whipping boy?" Walter scoffed, giving the youth a mocking sneer. "Your master has a swift hand and limited patience, regardless."

The youth touched the scar on his cheek. After a lengthy pause, he replied quietly. "I am at your service."

"Excellent." Then, withdrawing a coin purse from the pocket of his coat, he tossed it at the youth. The young man caught the purse, his eyes widening as the red-haired lord urged his horse into a trot. "I shall return two days from hence at midnight with a letter. Do not be late."

The young boy smirked. "No need to worry, milord. For the whipping Lord Armster gave me, I would do this for free."

* * *

_My lady, _

_As your lord has decided to, regretfully, cancel our visits henceforth, letters shall have to suffice. Though writing has kept me occupied, the castle is quite boring without your company. Pumpkin awaits you by the entryway expecting your return. I attempted to distract the imp with one of the treats you left. Alas, its stubbornness far outweighs my patience. _

_I have thought on your suggestion regarding the party. Do let me know your preferred date._

_I await your reply._

_-W.B._

* * *

_Lord Bernhard,_

_I hope you are well. I regret the change in circumstance and appreciate your letter. It feels like ages since we last spoke, even though it has merely been a week. I did not expect you would accept my request, but I am grateful. _

_Lord Armster is required at the Vatican to discuss new war plans. He shall leave in a fortnight and return the last day of this month. I expect he will let the servants know I am not permitted to leave the estate._

_I miss Pumpkin dearly. Please tell him I will return as soon as I am able._

_Justine misses you. Her brother's condition appears to be improving…which would not have been possible without you. Unfortunately, she cannot find her doll and thinks she may have left it behind during her last visit. She asks for you to remember to feed Finn, Fisk and Finnegan as well. I told her that though you are quite busy, she needn't worry, as they are taken care of._

_I look forward to seeing you._

_Faithfully yours,_

_Arabella_

* * *

_My Lady,_

_I am pleased to hear from you. Though I would prefer your presence, your letters help time pass more swiftly. The date is set. I expect your lord will not interfere, for duty ensures his absence. _

_Tis' best we invite only contacts from other regions. I do not want news of this reaching your lord. _

_I tried several delectable foods during my visit to East Asia and will hire a cook to prepare them. I expect most guests will find the selection exciting. As you are undoubtedly familiar, the upper-class love bragging about exotic experiences._

_Of course, meat shall be provided for the less adventurous._

_A local baker will make strawberry shortcake for dessert. I know it is your favorite._

_As for drink, my cellar has more than enough wine. I considered opening my millennium vintage but question whether it is still palatable..._

_Regretfully, I have not found Justine's doll. _

_-W.B._

* * *

Whereas hunting was once pleasurable; he now dreaded its necessity. As the date of their engagement was fast approaching, he knew he would have to feed beforehand. He could not allow thirst to create unnecessary risk to the lady or their guests. Despite his tremendous power, his need for human blood ensured he was forever bound to them.

Though he would never admit it, the woman's concern for their lives instilled a longing to circumvent his instincts. Hunting, a once effortless act, suddenly became problematic. The lady never discussed his obligation to hunt; likely knowing it was unavoidable. Despite this fact, he desired to find a _somewhat_ acceptable compromise.

Even though the lady grieved his taking of life, he could not fully accept her view. Prior to knowing her, he rarely thought of his prey. Animals did not consider their prey before killing them; why should he? Her ability to temper his brutality annoyed and fascinated him simultaneously. However, the urge to relinquish control and consume far more than necessary gnawed at his conscience. The Ebony Stone, unrelenting in its demand, beckoned him to submit to its dark power.

Unwilling to obey the accursed object, he ignored it in favor of the woman.

When he could no longer deny the call of the blood, he left Eternal Night in search of relief. The faint scent of blood and death lured him southward.

After a short time, he came upon a dilapidated stone house with a thatched roof. The house, likely owned by a serf subsisting on borrowed land, perfectly accompanied the barren landscape surrounding it. Walter observed the nearby fields; noting the dead and dry stalks of wheat peppering the unforgiving terrain. Whoever dwelled on the property tried – and failed – to turn the earth into viable farmland. As his knowledge of agriculture was scant at best, he did not know for certain if poor weather, inexperience, or untenable land was the cause. Perhaps, it was all three.

Not wanting to dwell upon human concerns, he returned his focus to the purpose of his visit. As he approached the building, the strong odor of death overcame him. He paused; surprised by its suddenness – whilst dismaying the possibility his hunt had been for naught. Despite himself, he could not resist finding out if his assumption was correct. Although he could have broken in and killed the home's occupants, he knew not who, or what, awaited him. Determined to disregard viciousness for the lady's sake, he approached the home's battered wooden door and knocked. After a brief silence, movement sounded from the other side. Walter's eyes widened from discovering the property was still inhabited.

After what felt like hours, the door slowly opened – revealing an elderly man dressed in a tattered brown shirt and breeches. The man's sunken hazel eyes looked up at the stranger's face. His withered lips parted in amazement. When it seemed the human would speak, loud, haggard coughs wracked his emaciated chest.

He swayed slightly and grasped the doorframe for support, his frame heaving as he rasped. "W-who are you, sir?"

Walter gave the man a short bow, his red hair cascading across his shoulders and cheeks when he moved. "I am a traveler in search of a place to rest." It was the best explanation he could think of, even though he knew it was slightly implausible. His fine clothing indicated a lack of need to seek out respite from a peasant.

The old man gave a tired nod. His rough voice addressed the red-haired lord with genuine regret. "You best get far away from this place, sir. My family is stricken with plague. I do not want you to fall ill."

The red-haired lord noted the man's blackened fingers and pus-covered skin. The human's face was so pale it contrasted the darkness surrounding them. He stared at the sickly creature a moment, his lips parting as he observed the old man's waning strength.

To alleviate the human's concern, he replied. "As I have already been exposed, I shall leave my fate in God's hands."

The old man released an exhausted sigh, his lips forming a wan smile as he stepped aside. "Come in, then. We do not have much but you are welcome to it. My granddaughter enjoys meeting new people. I am sure she would find you a worthy distraction."

Disbelief overcame the red-haired lord's curiosity. "You would invite a stranger into your home without question?"

The old man released a dry, choking laugh, his eyes brightening as if for the first time in years. Loud, gasping coughs escaped his throat as he motioned for the stranger to follow. "I do what the Lord asks me:_ I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me._"

Walter froze in disbelief. To him, the Bible was merely a collection of stories. However, the old man's unwavering resolve made him doubt his assumption. He had not expected he would be _invited _into the home. Had he truly been in need, they would have jeopardized their own lives trying to help him. The old man's kindness perplexed him, for he had offered nothing in return for their hospitality.

The moment he stepped inside the scent of death overwhelmed him. He almost retreated to the door but did not want to offend his host. His lips curled as he attempted to feign indifference amidst its undeniable presence.

The home was pathetically tiny and consisted only of a single room with a dirt floor. The crumbling stone hearth kindled a small fire. A large cast iron pot hung over the flames. Two tiny cots were in the room's furthest corner adjacent to the hearth. Several tattered blankets were laid upon the floor to create a third sleeping place. The old man collapsed into an old brown rocking chair. His gaunt face turned and stared into the flames.

Then, breaking his attention, he pointed to the pot simmering above the fire. "My snare caught a rabbit this morning. Dinner should be ready any moment, sir…?"

The red-haired lord hesitated. Upon noticing the man's weariness, he answered graciously. "Walter."

"Well met, Walter." The old man's lips formed a weak smile. "I am Dominik. My wife, Therese, and granddaughter, Sibyl, live here as well. My wife is sleeping in the far cot...please take care not to disturb her, if you do not mind." With a deep sigh, he rested his head on the back of the chair, as if the effort to move had become too much. Walter suspected the man would never rise again. "Forgive me, I am a bit tired." Closing his eyes, the old man turned his head toward the fire. With whatever strength may have remained, his trembling hand withdrew a rosary from his pocket. He gripped the cross in his fist as his voice faded to a breathless murmur. "_Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him_."

Walter's eyes locked upon the human in grim fascination. He did not need God to obtain the crown of life, for he already _wore_ it. The red-haired lord touched the Ebony Stone, feeling its power course through him. God loved mankind, not _him. _Then, remembering something from long ago, he pulled from his memory a verse.

_Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time._

He did not understand why the old man believed in a God that left him to die. Neither God, man, or death itself had made him yield…but she did. Though he refused to humble himself before God, he willingly capitulated to a_ woman. _She would lift him up – if he let her. Uncertainly clouded his mind as he thought on the power she wielded over his heart, which he had grown to fear and crave.

Drawing a heavy breath, he peered at the cots, attempting to divert his attention back to the matter at hand. Amidst layers of dirty blankets, he saw a child's face in the cot closest to him. Were he to guess, the girl could not have been older than four. Her dull, pale green eyes followed him as she struggled to sit up.

The child's barely audible greeting drew his attention. "Hello…"

Uncertain what to do, he approached the cot and gazed down at her. Like the old man, the girl's wan features were covered in puss-filled boils. She released a haggard cough, her chest trembling and heaving as she struggled to breathe. He traced the child's small, pale face. Though she looked at him, she did not seem to _see_ him.

Her dull eyes stared up at him in awe; their glassy spheres capturing him as she whispered faintly. "Are you…an angel? Grandmama said….an angel would come to find me soon…"

Walter's dark, obscure eyes gleamed in the firelight. The pragmatic part of him wanted to ignore the child's question. Yet, the longer he looked at her disease-ravaged form, the more he lamented her innocence. With a weak smile, he removed his glove and lightly touched the girl's forehead. Her warm, damp skin confirmed his suspicion that she was delirious with fever.

His deep, assuring voice filled her ears. "At last, I have found you. God is waiting for you, child."

"Will you take me to heaven?" Her eyes remained locked upon him.

Seeming to fear he would leave, she lifted her small, trembling hand. As gangrene had set in, her hand and fingers were black with rot. Walter resisted the urge to recoil from her. Instead, his lips formed a reassuring smile.

Between haggard breaths, she rasped. "Grandmama says…heaven is nice. Only good people go there, though. I stole a piece of cake…but I was hungry…and I'm sorry. Please don't leave me behind."

Walter's eyes flitted to the old man in the chair – noting the man's eyes had closed in deep slumber. The man's faint heartbeat indicated he was still alive, though likely not for long. His gaze drifted to the other cot in the corner where the stench was strongest. An older woman's body lay curled on its side. The woman's gaunt, puss and boil covered face looked blankly back at him. Even though he had seen disease before, he found it difficult to look away. The woman had likely been dead for days, which accounted for the terrible stench. Her face, frozen in feigned slumber, seemed almost peaceful. Yet, the marks of disease all over her body revealed death had not treated her kindly.

The home's remaining occupants were likely too feverish to notice her passing.

Walter approached the pot hanging over the hearth and peered inside it. What may have been soup at one time had long since boiled away. Left to simmer and burn, all that remained was blackened meat and bits of animal bone. The smell of burning meat, mixed with the scent of decomposing human flesh, nearly made him wretch. The man had barely been able to answer the door, let alone leave the home and cook a meal. The pot had been there for days, if not at least a week – burning away as the man stoked the fire in delirium.

The red-haired lord brought a hand to his brow and lowered his head. Tendrils of fiery hair cascaded around his face, hiding his stricken expression until he regained himself. He returned to the child's cot and sat down, carefully ensuring his smile did not fade for an instant.

He brought a hand to her face, caressing her damp cheek, his confidence reassuring her. "Do not worry, child." He whispered. "All is forgiven. Your grandmama is waiting for you to join her. You will not feel pain anymore."

The child stared back at him, her face momentarily showing the fear in her heart. "I don't want to die. Does…it hurt?"

He was uncertain why she asked, for her suffering was evident. Remembering the girl's delirium, he answered softly. "God does not let us choose our time. He is calling you and you must go to Him."

"I…don't hear Him." She whispered. "I…don't hear…anything…but you. Grandmama used to…sing to me before bed. I…can't sleep…"

He paused. After considering the child's plea, he reached into the pocket of his cloak and withdrew the music box. The moment he revealed it, the girl's eyes brightened somewhat. She stared at the little mahogany box in wonderment. He cranked the wooden knob on the box's front until it would turn no further. Giving the girl a wistful look, he flicked the lid back. Music filled the tiny room.

"Rest a while..." His voice, barely audible over the box's poignant melody, drifted softly through the air.

The child closed her eyes. When it seemed the song would end, he cranked the box, urging it to continue playing to ensure she would not stir. As he gazed at her pale face, his pupils flickered a brilliant crimson, lulling her into a sleep from which she would never awaken.

After drawing a heavy breath, Walter lifted the blankets covering the child's neck. Whilst gazing at the little girl's fragile throat, his hand clenched into a trembling fist. The girl's faint heartbeat thumped in his mind. Briefly, he considered leaving her as she was – knowing she would eventually follow her grandparents' fates. Yet, he could not bear the thought of her suffering. If he did not intervene, she would linger alone and afraid, until death finally took her.

God had condemned the child to suffer.

But he would not.

* * *

Upon leaving the home, anger and sorrow overwhelmed him. He thought on life's injustices, wondering why God had chosen the child to die and not _him_. Would God condemn him for giving her a merciful death?

As he had never asked such questions, uncertainty frightened him.

Desperate to forget, he looked up at the night's starry abyss. God would not give him the answers he sought.

An anguished howl bellowed from his throat as he fell to his knees upon the ground.

He cursed himself for allowing the old man to invite him inside, for learning their names, and witnessing their suffering.

He could not call them prey, no matter how much he wanted to.


	17. Denouement

**Chapter 17**

The night of the party, the red-haired lord sat atop his horse by the well. The crisp fall breeze skimmed his face. A full moon hung overhead and illuminated him. As his equine pawed at the ground, he pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. Though the chilly night air did not bother him, he felt unusually restless. Dressed in his finest burgundy coat, he fidgeted with its mandarin collar – checking and re-checking his attire to ensure nothing was out of place. Somewhat satisfied, he tugged at his elbow-length gloves. As he seldom wore them except on special occasions, the leather was still new and stiff.

Excitement permeated every fiber of his being, though his serious expression concealed it. Somewhat annoyed by the wind's habit of blowing his hair about, he brushed it back over his ears. As he did not want his guests noticing their unusual pointed tips, he kept them well-hidden beneath the loose coils of his thick scarlet hair.

As expected, Lady Rohesia appeared on the path. She picked up the skirts of her dress and hurried to meet him, her lips lifting into a broad grin the moment she saw him. To his delight, she had chosen to wear the lilac dress. Illuminated by the moon, the lady's fair, skin and graceful, sloping neck captured his attention. As it was cold that evening, she once again adorned her grey fur-trimmed cloak.

Upon seeing him, she stopped before his horse and curtsied. "Good evening, Lord Bernhard."

Smiling, he extended his gloved hand. "Good evening, milady. I hope you did not have much trouble finding me?"

Chuckling, she accepted his hand. "Your smug face is nearly impossible to miss."

With a low, amused laugh, he assisted her onto his horse. She sat down on the saddle in front of him, positioning her legs sideways.

Caught by the wind, her long golden hair lightly skimmed his face as he leaned close and whispered in her ear. "As is one with a tongue like yours."

With a sharp nudge, he commanded his horse into a gallop.

As they rode through the darkness, her voice filled the silence. "What would you have done if I decided not to come?" She asked, her voice somewhat teasing, despite her serious expression.

"Since your lord destroyed most of my undead in Weidenheim, I could use replacements…"

"Just send them to mass with Father Genesio. Same results with _much_ less effort."

* * *

Throngs of people milled about the grand ballroom; dressed in all the finery expected of their class. The vast space, normally cast in silence and darkness, buzzed with jovial conversation, music and activity. Dozens of gold candelabras gave the space an inviting glow.

A large banquet table lined with maroon velvet chairs was set up on the left side of the room. Large flags displaying the head and neck of a left-facing dragon were hung along the walls. The creature' s greyish-ivory hue contrasted the flag's rich burgundy backdrop. Its large, bright red eye stared at them menacingly.

Taking notice of the unusual banners, she pointed at one closest to the door. "A dragon?"

While observing the flag's formidable design, he smirked. "Tis' my family crest. Those banners have not been displayed since my youth."

"If your goal was to frighten your guests, you have certainly outdone yourself."

"As they are still here, I beg to disagree." Chuckling, the red-haired lord shook his head.

Behind the banquet table was a long buffet-style arrangement of food. Cake, meat, soups and other appetizers were neatly presented on gold platters. Servants dressed in finely crafted charcoal colored dresses and robes swept around the room carrying trays of wine, mead and brandy on polished silver platters. He had hired a few locals specifically for the event. The generous amount of gold paid for their services secured their loyalty, as well as their silence.

Soft music filled the air from the chamber players. The small group, consisting of a flute, lute, harp and vielle player, sat in a neatly arranged half-circle in the furthest corner of the room.

People laughed and casually strolled around the vast space, their smiling faces and animated conversations drawing the red-haired lord's interest. So long had it been since he had seen the castle's ballroom filled with people that it almost seemed imaginary. Thinking on this, his thoughts drifted to vague memories of him slinking around skirts and robes. Unseen and unheard, he existed among them, but never as _one of them_. He had observed his surroundings; fully aware of his insignificance.

Now, their eyes focused on _him_. His unusually tall stature, well-built frame, fair skin, rich red hair, and elegant clothing demanded their attention. As the castle's master, all answered to him. He thought on this fact; relishing his new importance. Like a king, they would acquiesce to his will. Their lack of awareness fueled his amusement. He would entertain _them_, despite their ignorance of his power.

The Ebony Stone called for him to destroy his illusion. The life of the idle happy rich was not for him, it seemed to say.

He stared at the humans wandering about, at the servants as they cleared empty glasses left haphazardly on windowsills and tables, before setting his attention on his companion. Lady Rohesia's calm disposition transformed into excitement. Whilst she took in the liveliness surrounding them, he discreetly offered her his arm. She took it without hesitating. Dull candlelight cast a soft glow across her face.

Suddenly, her eyes widened. "God's nails! You invited _her_?"

The red-haired lord looked over his shoulder, sighting the Succubus gliding up the hallway toward them. At least ten men accompanied her. "Ah, I must have forgot." He replied, returning her apprehension with a confident smile. "As you know, first impressions are important. I did not want my guests wandering too far. Thus, I tasked my most _devoted_ servant with escorting them. Do not worry. My servant understands the consequences of disobedience."

Lady Rohesia's eyes lingered upon the creature. "Well, at least the men get something to look at."

With a coy grin, Walter bent slightly; whispering. "Were it not for my servant, their attention would undoubtedly focus on a creature far lovelier."

A tint of red appeared in the lady's cheeks. "Milord…"

"I was referring to your _imp_." Walter chuckled; his eyes flitting to Pumpkin as it scampered past them.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

As the little creature entered the ballroom, it twirled around, its boisterous toy-like squeaks causing several onlookers to burst into uproarious laughter.

"Oh, what a cute little midget!" A finely dressed woman exclaimed, clapping her hands together when the creature hurried toward her, bowed, and offered her its candied hand. When she waved it playfully away, it skipped around her merrily, whistling a much faster and joyful sounding rendition of Lady Rohesia's tune. Pleased by its antics, the woman exclaimed. "My niece would absolutely _adore_ you!"

Despite Pumpkin's charisma, the succubus' swift, confident steps caused almost every man in the room to look up.

"This way, gentlemen!" The creature beckoned, though it seemed unnecessary, for none of the men in the group strayed.

Dressed in a long black gown with a deep v neckline; her fair skin, cerulean eyes, and perfectly sculpted frame drew the attention of every man in the room. A sheer black capelet adorned her smooth, delicate shoulders. Her once prominent bat-like wings were so well hidden beneath her dress that she appeared human. Like a performer in a play, she relished their attention. Her fitted dress revealed the tantalizing curves of her hips and breasts.

Upon sighting her, a male servant carrying a large try of drinks slammed into another male guest. Both men staggered back – their delight souring from the undesired interruption.

"Do you require anything, my lady?" One young man asked as he attempted to take her hand. When she casually waved him away, another quickly moved in. Like a gaggle of roosters, they followed her to the ballroom.

"Would you like a drink?" A somewhat attractive nobleman attempted to win her attention; speaking earnestly in her ear. "Perhaps, we can talk later, milady? A beauty like yourself should not be left unattended, lest one of these scoundrels try to sully you."

"Oh my, whatever would I do?" Her ruby lips lifted into a wry grin. Flicking her soft flaxen hair, she cocked her head. "Lord Bernhard expects me to escort his guests this evening. I am sure he would be displeased if any of them were to _accidentally_ find their way into my arms tonight…"

The seductress ushered her followers into the ballroom. Chuckling, she extended her hand. Without hesitating, at least five men attempted to take it. Nearly shoving each other out of the way, they gazed at her smooth, flawless countenance. "Who says I need to choose _one_ of you?" She asked, laughing when they stared in surprise. "I shall be glad to give all of you the attention you deserve_._"

Upon sighting her, the imp ceased dancing and hurried over; its loud, toy-like sounds drawing the seductress' attention. Nearly throwing itself into her, it stopped before her – its impatient squeaks making the men's faces wrinkle in disapproval. Though the group of men did not disperse, they glared at the little creature as it danced in place; its audaciousness winning her immediate approval. "Well, aren't you a precocious little thing!" She grinned. "I know what you want. You'll have to find it though, for tis' _very_ well hidden."

Jumping in excitement, the creature extended its candied hand. Without hesitating, she accepted it.

As the duo hurried off, with a throng of men following not far behind, Lady Rohesia raised an eyebrow. "What was that all about?"

Smirking, the red-haired lord replied under his breath. "I gave my servant some candy before the event. I can only imagine where she put it…"

"You did _what_?" The woman's eyes widened.

"Do not worry," He assured, his confidence easing her trepidation – somewhat. "T'was a necessary distraction. I am sure your little 'friend' will be _very_ satisfied when he finds it."

"Say no more!" She gagged; her exaggerated reaction amusing him. "Let us…greet your guests."

Together, they entered the ballroom. His enhanced hearing allowed him to make out conversations among the guests. Two portly men dressed in elaborate blue and dark green robes loitered near the doorway. He watched the heavier of the two fidget with rows of ornate gold, ruby and emerald encrusted rings lining his thick fingers. As the duo sipped upon elegant crystal glasses filled with the finest brandy, their conversation briefly drew his attention.

"The peasants on my land are truly disgusting, in every sense of the word." The fatter of the two remarked while twiddling with large square-cut emerald ring. He took a drink of his brandy, his face wrinkling like a piece of old parchment.

"The unmitigated gall!" The other replied. The man's sharp, watchful gaze stared dispassionately at his drink. Despite the alcohol, his thirst seemed to extend to far more than drink.

"True enough." The portlier man adjusted himself. Walter noticed the man's robes barely fit over his distended belly. With a disgusted huff, he stroked his greying moustache. "I give them so much. They grow crops on _my_ land, after all. This year, not one of them died of starvation. Surely, they can also afford to pay my taxes?"

"You only increased it by fifty per cent!" The second man laughed, shaking his head.

The portly nobleman rolled his eyes, snipping under his breath. "Any less, and they will not be inclined to work."

Walter grimaced. He thought _he_ was supposed to be the only bloodsucker at the party. Realizing that he was still being observed, his lips resumed their practiced smile.

As he eyed his guests with cautious enthusiasm, Lady Rohesia stayed close by his side. No sooner had they entered the room, than a short man dressed in embroidered chocolate brown robes, tapped him on the shoulder.

The man gave a short bow, his booming voice catching he and the lady off-guard. "Why, Lord Bernhard! Tis' wonderful you have at last graced us with an appearance! Most hosts arrive much earlier – wouldn't want the guests to think they are unimportant, would you?"

As he had invited only those from other regions, the man's name and title escaped him. Fortunately, he did not have to try and remember. Staggering forth, the stranger slapped the taller lord on the back.

Walter stiffened. "Good evening."

Lady Rohesia bowed her head at the stranger, her long, golden hair partially veiling her face.

The man's small, dark brown eyes shifted to his half-full glass of wine. Unconcerned about decorum, he remarked. "You look good for your age. What is your secret?"

Walter maintained his smile. The man's swaying arms caused some of the wine in his glass to slosh over the rim and onto the floor, barely missing his host's boots.

The red-haired lord positioned himself between the man and the lady – ensuring her dress would not be stained. Feigning indifference, he casually waved his hand. "Oh, I could not possibly tell."

"Tis' no wonder the ladies still find you enthralling." The man noted; his tiny eyes straying from the red-haired lord's tall form to the woman at his arm. "I bet your sunlight allergy has its advantages."

"Such as?" He asked, his voice acquiring a hint of impatience.

Unused to playing host, he eyed Lady Rohesia. The woman chuckled under her breath. Though it was somewhat early in the evening, some guests had already consumed more than their fair share of drink. The man waved his arm in the air, causing more of his drink to slosh onto the ballroom's reflective marble floor. Walter eyed the crimson liquid; his eyes flashing a tint of red at his imprudence.

His guest, failing to notice his host's growing agitation, laughed. "Why, it helps keep the skin _young_, of course! Only the poor must toil in the fields and sun all day. Now, do tell me where you hide your fountain of youth, Lord Bernhard. I should like to pay it a visit tonight!"

"Why, tis' over there." He pointed at the casks of wine stacked nearly along the wall by the buffet. "Wine is life's greatest elixir. Please let my servants know if you require anything else."

With a nod and wink, the man sauntered toward it. "Though your castle is impressive, you do not seem to have visitors very often, judging by its dated design. Your lack of attention to modernity is admirable, if a bit peculiar. I hope you will have more events like these."

Throngs of people looked up from their chatter; their eyes following he and the lady as soon as they appeared. As the lady guided him into the crowd, his ears detected faint whisperings. His dark, gleaming spheres traced the countless faces staring at him like a spectacle. Though he loved attention almost as much as power, their scrutinizing gazes and smiling faces unsettled him. He enjoyed influencing people's opinions – whether they were of him or someone else.

He withdrew a breath, mainlining his smile. His superior hearing enabled him to hear two female voices whispering quickly within the crowd.

"_He is truly fascinating - how could one so handsome not have a wife yet?"_

"_Perhaps he enjoys ploughing fields owned by others. Lady Rohesia has certainly not left his side."_

"_You are one to talk. Since your husband left for war, you've spent quite a bit of time with Sir Jody."_

"_Can I be blamed for my husband's naivete?"_

The red-haired lord's eyes trailed to Lady Rohesia. Noticing his attention was on her, she looked up in confusion. "Is something the matter?"

He shook his head, brushing the uncertainty out of his mind like a nuisance. A part of him wished he had not heard it at all. Though he should have paid it no attention, he did. Emotions he could not clearly define flooded through him as he looked at her lovely face.

Moments later, a nobleman and woman approached. The woman was dressed in a large steel blue velvet gown. The man, far older than her and somewhat grizzled in appearance, despite his elegant gold robes and boots, gave the red-haired lord a scrutinizing look. After giving his hosts a short bow, the nobleman's thin lips forced a smile. Lady Rohesia smiled back, though somewhat less amicably under their unwelcome inspection.

As the noblewoman looked the young woman up and down, she began. "I am Countess Helena of House Carolingian. Tis' so delightful Lord Bernhard invited us to this wonderful event. Who, may I ask, is the lady accompanying our gracious host?"

Before Lady Rohesia could respond, the man eyed the red-haired lord. With a tactful smile, he gave them a short, curt bow. "I am Count Byron of House Liudolfing. I've heard many things about you, Lord Bernhard. What is the occasion for this event? I am surprised one such as yourself has reason to celebrate. Accomplished anything of note? I would love to hear it, no matter how inconsequential it is."

Walter's frame stiffened. Whilst giving the nobleman an equally curt nod, he maintained a carefully crafted smile. "Count - and countess – this is Lady Arabella Rohesia of Canterbury."

"Ah," The countess noted, her smile broadening. The woman's lips parted slightly, revealing yellow, crooked teeth. Her pale green eyes focused on Lady Rohesia with vulture-like keenness. "I thought you would be a bachelor for sure, doomed to bestow this castle and your riches to some distant cousin to keep it in the family. She is certainly young and pretty enough to bear you many _litters_, should you require an heir."

The red-haired lord frowned. Were the lady not with him, he would have ripped her tongue out. "Lady Rohesia's fiancé was unable to attend. As the lady is not a rabbit, let us leave breeding to the beasts. My accomplishments speak for themselves."

"I am sure they would," The count's lips formed an amused smirk. "If anyone knew what they were…"

"Oh, come now, Byron." The countess scolded, smiling, despite her feigned disapproval. After giving the young woman an amused look, she added. "I love the fact you do not feel the need to try, Lord Bernhard."

"Prithee, countess, what do you mean?" Lady Rohesia's smile faded. Before the countess could respond, she continued. "Lord Bernhard went to great lengths to organize this event. I am grateful for his efforts. I hope his _humble_ guests are, as well."

Pausing, the countess' sharp gaze shot daggers at the young woman. Like a viper coiling to strike, she laughed and waved her away, her dismissal contrasting her incensed expression. "Oh, think nothing of it." Looking the young woman's lilac dress up and down, a slow, tiny smirk appeared on her face. Whilst lifting her head, she added proudly. "My dress was made in France by the most sought-after designer in Europe! Who made your garment, Lady Rohesia?"

Returning the woman's question with a tactful smile, she replied. "My handmaid, Anneliese, made it for me. It is my favorite-"

The countess cocked her head. "Oh, how…_quaint_."

Walter smiled, turning his attention to the countess. "Perhaps Lady Rohesia felt that her beauty did not need to be corrected through overpriced designers, from France or otherwise."

The countess smiled back, a slight twitch in her eye. "Perhaps. In any regard, I wish I was brave enough to wear such a low neckline."

"Can it truly be considered brave to display one's natural...curves? Not everyone..." here he directly turned his attention towards the countess. "Has them."

Averting his attention from the couple to the lady, he ushered her to the banquet table on the other side. "Come, milady. We have other guests to greet this evening."

As soon as they turned away, he heard the countess' hiss softly.

_Why that uncouth-_

Chuckling under her breath, Lady Rohesia flicked a strand of hair away from her face. "Thank you." she mouthed to him.

Pride swelled in him. In another life, this could be his game - attracting an air of mystery to the upper classes, battling through games of wits and subtle aggression, with good wine, doing nothing productive with his life but hosting parties and dishing out bon mots, with the lady by his side.

His attention turned to her.

The long skirt of her lilac dress trailed across the floor behind her as she went. Whilst scanning the room, she nodded and smiled at the groups of ladies, lords, dukes, duchesses, and all manner of aristocracy. She followed his leisurely steps, blending into the crowd as effortlessly as he. Despite his confidence, a tightness formed in the back of his throat whenever her gaze lingered on him.

As they approached the banquet table, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "I will try to ensure you are not bitten by anyone tonight…except _me_, of course."

She laughed, her delight easing his tension. "My ears are bleeding just from listening to them. Do not worry though, I can handle myself. I was raised among their kind, after all."

Giving her a shrewd look, he chuckled. "I suppose, they unknowingly owe you a debt of gratitude. You are the reason they are still alive."

"So, you _do_ value human life!" She said earnestly, her gaze subtly tracing the guests milling about the room.

Like a wolf observing a flock of sheep, his dark, glinting eyes focused on the men and women wandering the vast space. His fingers slowly twined between hers. Whilst discreetly taking her hand, he added. "Only _some_." He replied, his voice light, despite the nature of their discussion. As if it was nothing at all, he continued under his breath. "Should we grow tired of them, I could-"

"_No_." She gave him a sharp look. Then, laughing, her other hand pointed at the long buffet of food spread out before them. "The shortcake looks delicious though!"

"Milady, surely, you will not enjoy dessert before dinner?"

"Well, if you remember what happened to the last cake, I did not even get to try it!"

"Ah, yes. If I recall, you tossed most of it at me."

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. "That is because you dropped it on my head!"

He waved a servant carrying a tray of drinks over and passed her a glass of wine. Then, taking one for himself, he sipped it as she perused the buffet. While she went ahead of him, distracted by the seemingly endless amounts of food, his ears detected quiet whisperings amongst the crowd. Two voices captured his interest. While pretending to be too focused on the food to notice, he eyed two men watching him. Despite their efforts to remain discreet, their words failed to escape his scrutiny.

"_The midget dressed as a pumpkin was a nice touch."_

"_I suppose he wants it to be memorable. The man has been prowling the courts for decades. All these years, and this is the first party I have heard of him hosting. Maybe he thinks he shouldn't, because of his pale skin?"_

"_Not quite as much as Lord Armster. Have you seen him? The man looks like a ghost personified!"_

"_Regretfully, I have not. I have heard his fighting skills are second to none. Perhaps his paleness frightens the Saracens?"_

"_Something's off about both of them. For God's sakes, who calls a castle Eternal Night?"_

Walter scowled. Fighting to maintain composure, he nodded and smiled at guests when they passed by. Unease tremored through him as he eyed the groups of humans chattering and laughing around him. He observed them; noting their delighted expressions as they milled about the massive room. He blinked several times; almost doubting whether the sights were real at all. Pale red moonlight, somewhat obscured by candlelight, streamed in through the room's numerous large arched windows. The scents of candlewax, food and perfume overwhelmed him.

Then, turning his attention back to Lady Rohesia, his eyes narrowed.

A young man, likely a duke or some other title, approached her. The youth wore intricately embroidered black and silver robes. Shoulder length glossy black hair framed his fair, smooth face. Upon seeing the youth, the red-haired lord's lips curled. He observed the man's dark hair and eyes; instantly despising him, even though he could not recall them having ever shared a word. The man moved with stealth-like grace. His tall, and somewhat thin form stood out among his counterparts, for his actions were focused and deliberate. The stranger's sharp, penetrating eyes followed her every move.

The red-haired lord's hand clenched around the wine glass.

Smirking, the man leaned toward her. "What is a lovely creature like you doing here all by herself? My, my…"

Without batting an eye, Lady Rohesia continued staring at the cake. When a servant presented a piece to her on a silver plate, she replied. "Well, I _was_ enjoying the party." As if a fly had buzzed near her ear, she waved him away and accepted the plate. Noticing he did not leave, she added with an air of finality. "I bid you good evening, sir."

"Would you like to dance?" He asked, ignoring her displeasure. He extended his hand; his eyes seeking hers. When she continued admiring the perfectly layered cake on her plate, his voice rose with impatience. "Just one dance, milady. I am someone you want to be seen with."

"Though I appreciate your offer, I would prefer to enjoy my dessert." Ignoring him, she lifted her fork and took a small bite of cake.

When she turned away, the man's smile abruptly faded. Huffing, he snipped. "Oh, come now. Lower your standards a little. I just did. Don't you know who I am?"

"I have a feeling you are going to tell me." She replied, the boredom in her tone evident.

"What?" The man's eyes widened. His hands balled into fists. "_Everyone_ knows my importance! I am the Duke of Alsace's only nephew! Lord Bernhard is a close acquaintance of mine. He personally invited me to this pitiful little gathering. Given my reputation, most women would beg me to be seen with them. I think I could make you very happy tonight."

"Why? Are you leaving?"

Incensed by her remark, he snatched the plate from her hands and tossed it onto the buffet table. "You should not eat that; it will ruin your pretty figure."

"If you continue this, I will ruin _yours_, too." In an attempt to ignore him, she reached for her plate.

When she extended her hand to pick it up, he snatched it firmly in his. "Come, milady," He hissed under his breath, his dark eyes transfixed upon her face. "Stop making a scene! Your stubbornness is getting rather tiring-"

Before he could continue, the red-haired lord swept beside her. Walter's lips formed a gracious smile. Towering over the other man, he stared at his shocked expression with cold indifference. Then, turning his attention to the lady, he said. "Ah, Lady Rohesia. Do forgive my lateness returning."

"Excuse me?" Upon seeing the red-haired lord, the man's face wrinkled. His dark, sharp eyes traced Walter's pale skin and crimson hair with visible contempt. "The lady was talking to _me_. I do not know who you think you are, but your interruption was unwelcome, _Sir_."

Turning deliberately to their host, she smiled. "Good evening, _Lord Bernhard_." The man's mouth fell agape. While he stared up the red-haired lord's smirking expression, she continued. "I thought Lord Bernhard _personally_ invited you?"

"Lord Bernhard!" The man's eyes widened. After pausing, he added. "_Of course_, I knew t'was you! I was merely jesting - all in a bit of good fun!" With a forced laugh, he released her hand.

"Ah, yes…" Walter stared, his dark eyes boring into the man's with unusual scrutiny. "Have we met?"

Barely withholding a chuckle, she added. "I thought you two were close acquaintances? He told me so."

"Did he?" Walter mused, his voice trailing away as he stared at the man in growing amusement.

Like a dead fish, the man's mouth continued gaping. Uncertain how to respond, he adjusted himself, snapped his mouth shut, raised his head, and replied. "Perhaps the lady _misheard_ me. I said lord _Bernard_, not _Bernhard_. If women listened even half as well as men, there would be far less misunderstandings!"

"Speaking of that…" Walter replied, his smirk slowly fading. With a low chuckle, he stepped closer to the youth. His tall frame shadowed the other man. "As you are, undoubtedly, a _very_ important man," He continued, annunciating every word. "I would very much like to share a little story with you. As I would hate for the lady to _mishear_ it, I shall be discreet."

He leaned forward and whispered something in the man's ear. All the color drained from the man's face. Upon finishing, Walter gave the human a sharp look.

The man's posture stiffened. As if a ghost had just crossed his path, he bowed hastily. "I-I…I will not take up more of your time! E-excuse me!"

Without delay, he hurried off.

The moment he was gone, Lady Rohesia's eyes widened. "What did you say to him?"

Without giving it another thought, Walter shook his head. "Nothing important, milady." He smirked coyly. "Are you enjoying the party? I hope everything is to your liking."

Never had he felt so alone, despite being in the company of so many – until he felt her hand take his.

Sensing his unease, she whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He assured. He lifted his head and surveyed his guests.

The soft background music suddenly changed to an up-beat tune. The lute and vielle picked up pace, filling their room with quickly rising and falling notes. Surprised by the sudden change, the red-haired lord's eyes widened. Before he could inquire further, she set her glass down on the table and motioned for him to follow her.

With a quick wave of her hand, she plucked the wine glass from his hand and set it down on the table. "Care to dance? Tis' about time you showed off your new skills, milord."

Tensing somewhat, he shook his head. Uncertain how to broach the matter, he lifted his arm – raking his hand through the thick, glossy coils of his scarlet hair. "I could not possibly – not in front of _my guests_."

"Why not?" She shrugged. Her bright, grey-blue eyes locked with his. Without hesitating, she gently tugged his hand. "Are you still worried about looking like a fool?"

"No." His frown slowly lifted. "Though I am more than capable, I am less than willing."

Despite his efforts, she seemed to see through him like glass. While giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, her voice softened. "I would rather dance with you than any other man in this room." She whispered. "If you do not care about what they say, neither will I." She smiled.

Returning her smile, Walter swept a low bow. "Very well…"

Coils of thick red hair tumbled recklessly across his shoulders when he moved. Upon straightening, he escorted her to the middle of the room. Several people were already dancing. He watched them glide across the room's dark marble floor; their perfect timing drawing his attention. He envied their graceful, sweeping movements. As spectators gathered along the edges of the room to watch, the color drained from his face. Unlike him, the men dancing around him impressed their partners effortlessly. Women smiled and laughed in their arms. Their flirtatious excitement permeated the room.

For the first time, he joined them.

Whilst they danced, he forgot what he was. With her, he was merely a _man_. He was _alive_ \- and content to play the part of a human until the spell broke and the sun called his guests away. He led her across the room, his steps matching hers with a grace and skill he did not know he had.

The crowd's laughter stung him. Unwilling to listen any longer, his gaze averted to the floor. To his relief, the song ended. As he swept a low bow, and she a curtsy in return, thick red hair splayed around his paling face.

With as much confidence as he could muster, he straightened, lifted his head and said softly. "As always, I enjoyed our dance, Lady Rohesia."

"As did I, as always." She replied softly.

He ushered her to a small table by the wall. Though he made no mention of it, he had a servant set it up and reserve it for their private use. A small candle was set in the middle; giving it a soft, warm glow.

"Would the lady care to rest a while?" He asked, his low, deep voice carrying over the crowd.

When she nodded, he pulled out one of the chairs for her to sit down. As he moved around the table to take a seat across from her, the Succubus' familiar voice startled him.

Before he could object, the creature, followed by a group of ten men, promptly took the lady's place at the table. "Good evening!" The seductress began cheerfully. Thick, glossy locks of light blonde hair framed her grinning face. When the men gathered around the back of her chair, she waved them away. "This party has turned out far better than I expected!"

"What do _you_ want?" Lady Rohesia gave the creature a guarded look. "Don't you have enough to keep you busy? Besides, I thought you-"

"Oh!" The creature laughed, "You're not still dwelling upon our little spat in the theatre, are you? Considering how well this party is going, I am sure my master will be _slightly_ regretful when he is inevitably done with you."

Not wanting to draw more attention than necessary, the red-haired lord smiled. "Not as regretful as you will be, should you-"

"Oh, don't be like that!" The seductress waved her clawed index finger at him. Leaning forward, she placed a hand over her mouth and whispered. "I could use some time away from men, for a change."

To his surprise, the woman nodded. "Lord Bernhard, would you kindly give us a moment? I would like to speak with her."

Walter stared at her, disbelief washing away his contentment. Unwilling to deny her request, he nodded. "I will return soon."

As he turned to leave, he gave the succubus an expectant look. When the creature's bright blue eyes met his, she smirked. Assured the lady would remain in the same condition when he returned as when he left, he flicked his cloak and sought a servant to bring a tray of drinks.

* * *

A short time later, loud, boisterous laughter caught his attention. To his surprise, both the lady and his succubus had already downed two glasses of wine each. Though the seductress' voice lowered, he heard her words clearly. "…and when he showed it to me, I could not believe it!"

"Was it…big?" The lady asked, her wide, clear eyes never leaving her face for a moment.

The temptress shook head. "It was quite possibly the _tiniest_ one I had ever seen! I scarcely knew it was there! I thought he was a eunuch until he pointed it out to me. He thought it was positively _massive_; a grand leviathan ready for my pleasure. I felt so sorry for the poor dolt, I told him he could leave if he wished."

"Did he?" She gasped.

The creature shook her head. "He refused. In the end, I decided it would be kinder to dispose of him."

"Must you do such things?"

"Why not?" The concubine shrugged, her eyes flickering in amusement. "Of all ways for one to meet their end, dying in the arms of a lover is far better than a painful, bloody death on the battlefield. Ah, like that pathetic Kriemhild character you adore so much!"

As the lady had not yet seen him, she leaned across the table and whispered. "Speaking of that…what of Lord Bernhard? What do you know of him?"

A slow, knowing grin crossed the creature's ruby lips. Flicking her hair, she tapped her talon-like fingernails on the table. After a deliberate pause, she winked. "Ah, well," Sensing her master's presence, she licked her lips. Then, pausing once again, she leaned back in her chair as if taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Walter watched her every move, his dark eyes gazing at the creature in challenge.

A man's voice called to him over the crowd; interrupting his approach. "Lord Bernhard! Where the devil is our host?"

Despite his efforts to be somewhat discreet, several men pointed his direction and waved him over. Their grinning faces and laughter seemed indicative they were enjoying the drink just as much as the party. Stopping mid-step, he turned toward them. His lips formed a practiced smile. Ever the good host, he nodded in acknowledgement.

Before he could excuse himself, another finely dressed man beckoned him over. "There's our gracious host! Lord Bernhard, we would like to share a toast with you! Come now, some of us have been waiting all evening to speak our thanks for this wondrous event!"

"Of course." After glancing back at the woman and concubine, he acquiesced. While sauntering toward the group of five noblemen, he lifted his wine glass. "What would you like to toast to, gentlemen?"

"Why, _you_ of course!" The oldest man among them chimed; lifting his mug of mead recklessly into the air like it was the greatest thing in the world. The other four men accompanying him followed suit. He noticed all of them had swords sheathed at their hips. Though they carried weapons, he doubted any of them had fought a day in their lives.

The red-haired lord smiled proudly. "I am honored."

The oldest man bellowed. "A toast to Lord Bernhard and his long life!"

Others in the crowd raised their glasses.

As he clinked his glass with theirs, he thought on the fact the gesture honored _him_. As easily as he raised a glass, he could have just as easily ripped them apart. Instead, he was content to bask in their approval. Years spent in isolation suddenly felt like time he had let go to waste, much like the wine he carefully stored and never drank until this night. Now, standing among them, he enjoyed the fruits of eternity.

Without Lady Rohesia though, his newfound appreciation of life held little significance. His guests marveled at his mystery but did not know him as she did. What was eternity without her by his side? What had he been doing all those years before they met? He wasted much of his existence wandering aimlessly from one thing to the next. He loved nothing, cared for nothing and his only 'accomplishment' was acquiring the Ebony Stone. Without that precious object, he would have been consigned to sleep away the day until the stars greeted him once again.

His smile slowly faded.

He drained the last of the wine from his glass and strode across the ballroom. He would not waste more time in idle conversation. Although time belonged to him, she did not. Lord Armster believed she would accept him if he was persistent. He, on the other hand, was less inclined to bridle and saddle her. Human life was too short for that.

Upon his return, the Succubus rose from her seat. Smirking, she stepped away from the table, her eyes locking upon Pumpkin waiting nearby.

"I hope I answered your questions!" The seductress grinned. Flicking her hair, she primped her hair and adjusted the skirts of her dress. As she slinked around her chair, she dragged her index finger across the table, leaving a scratch in the wood like an animal marking its territory.

Lady Rohesia remained in her seat. The woman's visage was so pale the red-haired lord blinked several times as if to ensure the room's dim lighting was not the cause.

The little imp latched her wrist with its candied whip and pulled her toward it. Several onlookers laughed and pointed, as if believing the creature's antics were merely a part of the 'act.' As the temptress pranced off, the lady's gaze averted to him.

The red-haired lord, dissatisfied with the creature's coyness, quickly snatched her wrist. As discreetly as he could, he whispered. "Did you tell her what I told you?"

The seductress nodded. Whilst raking her tongue across her teeth, she winked. A loud, cackling laugh escaped her throat. Then, shaking her head, she hurried off toward the door to the keep. As the little creature hurried after her, its squeaking steps drew the amused laughter of nearby onlookers.

Turning his attention to the lady, Walter smirked. "Was it what you expected?"

The woman stared up at him, her face paling even further. "She told me more than I wished to know. Far more, in fact."

"I see." Somewhat amused, he tossed his head. Coils of rich, red hair cascaded against his cheeks as he replied confidently. "So, are you impressed?"

"Impressed?" As if he had cursed her, she jerked her head back. Her brow furrowed. "Are you _sarding_ _mad_?"

Walter's eyes widened in surprise.

Pausing, she folded her arms across her chest. Her voice quavered slightly. "She…said you like placing mirrors everywhere so you can see every angle of yourself during the act; that you love having your left nipple twisted three times in a counter-clockwise direction prior to finishing; that you occasionally transform into a wolf so you can copulate as a beast; that you love it most when a woman is 'unclean' for the blood _there_ invigorates you; and finally, that your favorite pleasure is biting and drinking from a woman's rump!"

The red-haired lord's smirk broadened. "Only one of those is true."

"Which one?" She gasped, her wide, glassy spheres stared up at him; torn between amazement and revulsion.

Flicking his hand, he replied. "That depends upon my mood."

Nearly choking from laughter, she set her glass down on the table; barely managing to avoid knocking it over. "Zounds! I suppose she is the only one who knows the truth."

Walter's eyes glinted. "For now."

He eyed the graceful curves of her shoulders and neck. Her soft, fair skin seemed more delicate in candlelight.

"Believe me, Lord Bernhard," She chuckled, "When I say that when I am 'unclean,' my womanhood is a lair best left unexplored. Tis' an absolute _massacre_ down there."

With a low, booming laugh, he bent slightly. His lips skimmed her ear. "I have been through far worse, milady. Now, let us take a brief leave – there is something I wish to speak with you about."

* * *

"God, I need some fresh air! Those people are almost as suffocating as Lord Armster!" She exclaimed.

The night sky greeted them with thousands of twinkling stars. Even though it was perpetually windy, she did not seem bothered by it in the least.

The red-haired lord returned her question with an assured smile, his dark eyes flickering when his gaze settled upon her. "I thought you enjoyed parties?"

"I enjoy your company far more." She smiled. "This is the first time I have truly known happiness."

He thought on her words for a long moment, his smile slowly fading as he looked at the lonely nightscape surrounding them. After drawing a heavy breath, he brought a hand to her face and caressed her cheek. She had taught him discipline in her view that not all life deserved to be ruthlessly taken away. He resisted the unwanted urge to consume her, realizing that despite his long life, he truly knew nothing about what it meant to _live_ until she blessed him with her smile and laughter.

His voice lowered to a whisper. "There is nothing I would not give you, if only you would remain here. If you want eternity, it shall be yours."

Sadness reflected in her eyes. "I cannot bear the thought of harming others for my sustainment. Eternity would change me. I would rather die than not know you as I do now."

With a heavy sigh, he bowed his head. "I see."

Sensing his disappointment, she reached up and touched the luscious coils of his hair, her gentleness drawing him closer. "If you will accept my ephemeral life, I will accept your everlasting one. The only thing I ask in return is you – all of you – good and ill."

"You needn't ask…"

Unable to deny her any longer, he wrapped her in his arms and covered her lips with his. He raked his hands through her long hair, his words and thoughts lost within her tenderness. She tasted of wine and strawberries; the combined sensations arousing his hunger as he pulled her into his embrace. He could not recall a time when he kissed another and felt subdued by its power. He never gave himself to anyone completely as he always withheld a part of himself. As he wound his tongue into her mouth and tasted her for the first time, he craved her comforting, warm embrace.

Breaking their kiss, she whispered breathlessly. "What about our guests? Surely they-"

"Let them wait." He smirked, his dark, penetrating eyes meeting hers. Unwilling to let her return so soon, his hungry lips covered hers once again. Yearning filled him as he pulled her close; his hand lightly caressing her face. Reassured by her touch, he longed for more.

"I don't know about you," She said, "But it's _goddamn freezing_ out here! Though I don't mind kissing a corpse, I'd rather not become one."

Walter laughed. In his presence, she was never afraid to speak her mind. Amused by this fact, he swept a low bow. His deep, rich voice resonated over the howling wind. "Very well. Come, we shall seek shelter in my tower."

"The tower?" Her brow furrowed. "Why, there is nowhere for us to sit, except your…"

A tiny, knowing smirk appeared upon his lips. Whilst brushing aside the loose coils of his crimson hair, he whispered. "Will that please the lady?"

Returning his smirk, she nodded. "I suppose, it will suffice."

He offered her his hand. When she accepted it, he slowly escorted her up the steps. "I have not dusted it in a while." He added, chuckling under his breath. "For only I sit upon it. Alas, I hope there is enough room for two..."

"_Enough room_?" She gasped, her voice filling with mock disbelief. "I am surprised it has not collapsed under your enormous buttocks, Lord Bernhard."

Scoffing, he flung the throne room door open. "As other parts of me are equally _impressive_, do not be. That said, I do enjoy farting into its cushions, occasionally..."

She laughed. "God's nails, you are _impossible_!"

After entering the large, empty room, he escorted her to the steps on the opposite site. Her eyes traced the large red velvet chair situated in the middle of the modest platform. He watched her study the throne's elaborate engraved arms and tall back.

When she hesitated to approach, he chuckled once again, lifted his cloak and ushered her up the steps. "Would the lady care to sit down? Though others have come before you, you are the first human to sit there _alive_."

Encouraged by his invitation, she ascended the stairs. After reaching the luxurious chair, she stood before it uncertainly. While looking over her shoulder at his smirking expression, she remarked. "I do not think it goes with my style. All this fuss over a chair…" Shaking her head, she reluctantly sat down. The long, trailing skirt of her lilac dress flowed across the floor around the throne's elaborate gold base. Somewhat taken aback by its size, she rested her hands delicately on her lap. "Well, it is certainly a very fancy chair, milord. I can see why you like it."

With a dismissive wave of the hand, he replied. "I am unused to anyone sitting there."

The woman smirked. Lifting her hand, she beckoned him forth, her eyes shining in the candlelight. "Well, you best take it back…before I get _too_ comfortable." She whispered, her eyes meeting his in subtle invitation.

More than willing to accept her challenge, the red-haired lord ascended the steps.

When he came before her, she rose to greet him. "Though many men have fought and died for the privilege of sitting in that chair, I have no need for it."

"And why is that?"

Without hesitating, she replied. "I would rather have you."

Uncertain how to respond, he looked at her a long moment; his throat constricting his voice to silence. He assumed most humans wanted power as much as he did. As always, her unexpected rejection of conventionality never ceased to entertain him. Somewhat impressed by her candor, he sat down on the throne's red velvet seat.

After studying her, his smile broadened. "I see. Your power…is quite something."

"I do not have any power?" Somewhat taken aback by his response, she cocked her head. "I have no right to property, nor do I command armies of men."

"Power comes in many forms, milady." He chuckled; leaning back in the plush, velvet chair. "You are far more than a title."

Thinking on his words, she slowly approached the chair, her grey-blue eyes meeting his. "Though your throne is comfortable, I would rather enjoy something far _better_, milord."

"As would I." He whispered softly. "If the lady desires it..."

Encouraged by his invitation, she picked up the skirts of her dress. Slowly, she lifted herself onto him; her smaller frame straddling his much larger one. Curtains of long, golden hair fell around them as if to conceal them both from the world. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as she brought her lips to his in a heavy kiss. She wound her tongue into his mouth, tasting him whilst he gently wrapped her in his embrace. Low, breathless moans fled her throat as his wandering hands slowly brushed the supple curves of her breasts concealed beneath the dress' silky fabric. As her kisses grew more fervent, he slipped his hand down her dress' low decollate. His fingers delicately kneaded her taut nipple. Sensing his tender intent, she surrendered herself to his touch. As his hand glided through her skirt's many underlayers, she broke their kiss. Her warm, soft lips trailed from his. Surprised by her boldness, he moaned. As her wandering lips skimmed his neck, she raked her hand through his lush, scarlet hair. When his hand at last reached her womanhood; her heartbeat quickened.

He stroked her gently, smirking as she writhed and gasped from his touch. His fingertips delicately explored her wetness. Though he could not see beneath her skirts, her increasingly loud gasps and moans revealed he had found the little object he sought. His other hand, still concealed beneath the neckline of her dress, continued caressing her breast.

Refusing to receive his passion docilely, she rubbed his groin. Slowly, she pried his breeches away; her soft touch sending electric-like currents of pleasure through him. He leaned back in the chair. Soft, breathless moans fled his lips as her fingers glided across his organ. When her hand grasped its hard shaft, his eyes drew wide. With a tender look, she brushed her index finger across its swollen wet tip. Though slightly unsure of herself, her hands tightened. When her gesture was met with an approving moan, she glided her hand up and down in a pumping motion. Initially, her lack of skill was telling, for her motions were somewhat clumsy and hesitating. Unmindful of it, his lips formed a slow, amused smirk. Unlike some women, who exaggerated their skill, she did not. He nodded approvingly; relaxing under her soft touch. He liked the fact she took her time; starting slow before gradually increasing the pressure. A low groan vibrated within his throat. Unwilling to yield; his fingernails dug into the arms of the chair. He watched her hands slide up and down his member; gently urging his surrender.

He would not give in easily. Seeking her lips, he cupped her face and smothered her in a deep, ravenous kiss. Her long, silky hair splayed across his heaving frame, draping the seat of the chair in a thick, golden river. Smiling, she kissed him once more; her ferventness arousing him. His chest rose and fell alongside her quickening breaths. Slowly, his fingers slipped across her vulnerable opening. Skimming her nipple with one hand, his index finger slid within her narrow passageway. Since she was inexperienced, her tightness did not surprise him.

Upon feeling him; she gasped sharply. "Will you care for me, as long as I live?"

A slow, amused smile creased his lips. "Longer."

"How long? One lifetime? Two? Perhaps, two and a half, _if_ you feel like it?"

Without hesitating, he answered. "_Far_ longer."

Not even he knew what that meant in the context of his unnatural existence. What was one lifetime to him, or even two? He did not know. As human societies changed, he remained the same. Yet, after meeting her, he _had_ changed.

Intrigued by this unexpected realization, he sought to claim her before God – and Lord Armster – could.

When she returned his reply with silence, he chuckled. "Would you like me to serenade you, first?"

"What?" She frowned.

"Like Lancelot with Guinevere?" His lips formed a mocking grin. "I care for thee like a flower on mine anus, for thou art _almost_ as perfect as mine engorged manhood, which shall satisfy thy virgin desires more skillfully than thy lady's betrothed. I shall prick thy humble blossom with mine enormous spear-"

"God's nipples! Do you ever shut up?" She laughed. "My _humble_ blossom?"

"With a mouth like that, you could not possibly be." He laughed. "And I would not have you any other way."

Returning his smirk, she replied. "Nor I, _you_."

With a sharp, rapturous gasp, he pulled her closer; drawing her into the intensity of his desire. His middle finger joined the other one; encouraging her body's capitulation. As gently as he could, knowing her inexperience, he thrust his fingers in a forward and backward motion; rubbing just the right location to elicit her gratification. Low breathless moans escaped her throat whilst he pleasured her; losing himself in her warmth.

Having sufficiently prepared her, he withdrew.

Whilst kneading her breast, his fingers returned to her wetness; carefully stroking the delicate pearl shrouded beneath her skirt's numerous layers. He felt her shift until her hips hovered over his. With a low, breathless moan, she rested her arms around the back of his neck and leaned into him. Knowing what she desired, he lifted his hips.

Trembling somewhat, she asked quietly. "Does it hurt like they say?"

"I will be gentle."

"Will you end my life afterward?"

Smiling softly, he replied. "No."

"Why? I thought you always-"

"_Not_ always." Taking her hand in his, he pressed it to his lips, twining his fingers with hers. "I cannot…" Afraid of the words his lips threatened to say, he shook his head. "Like fine wine, I would prefer to enjoy you more than once."

"Good." She sighed. "Had you answered differently, I would have driven my knee into your cock."

A loud, roaring laugh escaped his throat.

She glanced around the room. Then, smirking, added. "I don't see any mirrors…"

"I prefer to look at _you_." He whispered. His dark eyes traced her smooth, fair face. "I would rather remember you, exactly as you are, before time carries you away."

"If that is your wish," She answered softly. "May this moment last forever."

He lifted his hips back; his voice silenced by his need for her. Wrapping her once again in his embrace, he sought to claim her, at last.

One of the curtains on an adjacent wall shifted. Soft, barely audible squeaks echoed through the empty space. His eyes narrowed. "It seems we are not alone." Before rising to investigate, his lips hungrily sought hers. As he did not wish to offend her, he said gently. "As I am sure the lady would prefer to experience intimacy in privacy, I shall return in a moment."

He lifted the lady away and set her down in front of the throne. Anger burned within his spheres, causing his irises to flash bright crimson. Flicking his cloak, he rose from the chair, pulled up his breeches and descended the steps. Heavy red velvet drapes decorating a window on his left was drawn. As the other curtains in the room were tied back, the one that was not attracted his immediate attention.

Whilst fumbling to rearrange her dress' many layered skirts, the lady stared after him. Then, realizing they may have had an audience, her cheeks tinted crimson.

Walter flung the heavy velvet curtain back. Upon seeing what awaited him, he regretted it.

The succubus' backside was pressed against the arched window. Her head was tilted back as she rested against the glass. Breathless gasps and pants escaped her slightly parted lips. Whilst writhing in pleasure, her dress' top half had been pushed down, exposing her large, supple breasts. As her eyes were closed, she had not yet seen him. Her long, clawed fingernails lightly caressed her breast's firm nipples. Moaning softly, she tossed her head, causing her hair's glossy, light blonde strands to fall in waves across her smooth, fair shoulders.

Collecting himself, his attention shot from her exposed bosom to the creature's long, trailing skirt. Low excited squeaks sounded from underneath it. As if controlled by an invisible force, the skirt's inky black fabric shifted.

At last realizing he was there, the concubine's eyes fluttered open. Before she could utter a word, he tossed her skirt back.

Pumpkin was positioned between her fully spread legs; its large, spherical head buried in her womanhood. Upon detecting him, the imp's head immediately shot up. Squeaking, it jumped – it's surprise mirroring the succubus'.

"Master!" A slow, broad grin creased her lips. "I knew you couldn't stay away from me for long. Three's definitely not a crowd as far as _I'm_ concerned." Then, glancing down at her companion, she added coyly. "You still haven't found the candy, darling…"

Squeaking, as if in delight, the imp's crescent-shaped mouth returned to her womanhood.

The red-haired lord shook his head. Unwilling to look upon them any longer, his lips curled. "Get out. _Now_."

Familiar with her master's temper, the seductress snapped her legs shut and straightened. With a loud squeak, the imp fell backward onto the floor. "Oh, I had no idea this room was already taken!" Her sharp, azure blue eyes looked beyond him at Lady Rohesia standing beside the throne. "Ah, it seems my master was about to claim your chastity. Do be mindful; he has a habit of nipping during intercourse…"

The woman's mouth fell agape. "God's holy cunt!" She exclaimed. Then, covering her eyes, she shouted. "Jesus sarding Christ! What are you doing to my little Pumpkin-"

"Oh, it's not as _little_ as it looks." The temptress flicked her hand. Chuckling, she reached and plucked the little creature off the floor. Whilst holding the imp in her arms like a doll, her large, bat-like wings unfurled.

Incensed by her cheek, the red-haired lord lifted his boot.

Narrowly avoiding a kick to her rump, she skipped toward the door and flung it open. Dull red moonlight cascaded across her naked chest. Before taking her leave, she looked over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out. The little creature buried its face into her breasts. Low, repetitive squeaks sounded as her nipples slipped inside its perpetually grinning mouth. "Oh, yes, keep looking little one; I _may_ have hidden it there…" With a triumphant laugh, her black, leathery wings fully extended.

As soon as he moved, fully prepared to punt the creatures into oblivion, the temptress took flight. Like a crow shooed from its perch, she beat her wings and ascended into the sky. The cold night wind swept her away; carrying her higher until she disappeared. Knowing she would likely avoid him for the rest of the evening, he did not follow.

Screams and cries sounded within the darkness. Though faint, he heard them clearly.

Sensing his discontent, the lady asked. "What's wrong?"

A long silence passed before he answered bitterly. "Your lord has arrived."

Before she could reply, he translocated from the tower.

* * *

Upon entering the ballroom, Walter sighted the crusader storming through the crowd. The man's long white hair flew behind him as his boots clicked loudly upon the floor's glassy surface. The music had stopped and most of the guests had retreated near the walls to avoid the pale nobleman. The musicians hurried away as soon as Lord Armster ran toward them. Without hesitating, the pale lord kicked their instruments out of the way, leaving a trail of broken pipes, lutes, and harps in his wake.

"Where is she?" Lord Armster shouted; his voice echoing across the space. "Tell me where she is! I know he has her!"

Walter slowly entered the room. He watched the pale nobleman approach one of the servants and fling a tray of drinks from her hand, sending them shattering onto the floor with a resounding crash. The man's gleaming silver robes flew behind him like the wings of a seraph; their exquisiteness contrasting his rage.

A chilling silence filled the space as the white-haired lord continued pacing, flinging food trays, flowers, and instruments around as he went. No one uttered a word.

Within a few moments, Lord Armster's icy gaze locked upon the red-haired lord. Trembling, he shouted. "Return Lady Rohesia this instant!"

Walter cocked his head, his lips forming a grin. "Lord Armster, I see you have taken it upon yourself to destroy my guests' beverages – tis' so like you to entertain me with dramatics. I presume, you know the musicians will require compensation for the instruments you broke?"

"Enough!" The white-haired lord snapped, his eyes narrowing as he reached for the blade sheathed on his back. Then, as if realizing the scene he was creating, he began pacing in front of the taller lord. His attention suddenly shifted to the guests standing around the edges of the room. "Something is wrong with this place – with _him_! What of the fact he only ventures out at night? Have any of you seen him during the daytime? This…this…_thing_ is no man!" With a terrifying yell, he smashed several wine bottles on the floor – spilling its red contents across the glossy marble surface. "All of _you_ are fools!" He withdrew the sword and extended his arm, pointing the deadly blade directly at their host. The sword's mirror-like edge glinted ominously in the candlelight. "It shall murder you _all_! It seduced Lady Rohesia with its wicked ways! For that, it shall die!"

"Now, now…" Walter began, his smile broadening despite the growing audibility of his guests' frightened whisperings. He slowly approached the pale nobleman, his steps echoing across the ballroom's glass-like marble floor. "This is ridiculous. Lady Rohesia attended this event of her own will and was merely enjoying the view. You are frightening my guests."

"I have heard enough of your lies!" The white-haired lord screamed "I will cut you down here and now!"

"Stop!" Arabella ran through the open door, the skirt of her lilac dress trailing behind her as she went. Without hesitating, she stood beside the red-haired lord, her fair face a mask of equal fury. "You will do no such thing!"

"I will hear no more from _you_!" He tossed his head, veiling part of his face behind curtains of pearly white hair. "Get away from it!"

Walter's dark, glinting eyes stared down at the crusader loathingly. His voice cut through the other man's hatred like daggers. "Leave, _now_. I will not ask again."

To his dismay, the human lifted his arm back and swung the blade at his chest. He took the full brunt of the blow, his eyes widening as the edge of the sword cut downward from his shoulder to his hip. As he expected, the attack ricocheted off him like the useless biting of a fly. A red tint appeared within his dark eyes when the human staggered back in surprise, his mouth agape upon finding his opponent unharmed.

Then, his eyes sharpened. "He is neither a lord nor a man." He spat with contempt. "He is a _vampire_!"

"He is more human than you!" She shouted, her eyes blazing with unparalleled fury. "He has not harmed anyone-"

Walter's eyes flitted around the room as his ears picked up the whisperings of the crowd. His composure fell away when people burst into fits of frightened screams.

As they backed away from him, Lord Armster shouted over their surprised cries. "He's the _monster_, not I! He lured all of you here so he could drag your souls into hell!"

"He's the Devil!" One woman screamed above the murmuring crowd.

The moment she cried out; others joined – building upon each other's fear until all composure was lost. As they shouted and rebuked him, Walter held his hands up in front of his face, desperately trying to shield himself from their wretched hatred. However, his words were lost in their fear as they slowly backed towards the door. And, as their fear rose, so too did his hunger. Despite his desire to placate his nature, it mattered not. He would forever be hated, whether he played his games or not.

_"Kill it before it kills us!"_

_"I don't want to die! Someone, please, do something!"_

People began running in all directions like rats in a trap, whilst the red-haired lord stood in the middle of the room, his form statue-like amidst the chaos. Groups of noblemen who once shared a toast in his honor withdrew their swords and charged toward him. Walter watched them swing their blades at him, only for the weapons to fly out of their hands when the stone's protective barrier shielded him from their blows. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of women picking up remnants of food that had been knocked over and throwing it his direction. The evening's roast and desserts splattered harmlessly across his chest and back. Anger seeped through his eyes. The burning hunger in his mouth seared against his desire to withdraw. He heard their hearts pounding against their ribcages as they ran; the blood flowing through their veins and arteries luring him to damnation. He bared his teeth, revealing the needle-sharp points of his incisors as he backed toward the tower door. At least two dozen other noblemen continued to assail him with their swords. Their efforts were all in vain, for his power mercilessly reflected their attacks.

He had almost made a successful retreat when he spotted Lord Armster. The pale nobleman grabbed the lady and began dragging her to the opposite side of the room. Though she attempted to fight back, she relinquished her efforts when she saw the terrifying red glow in his eyes.

"No!" She screamed. "_Do not hurt them, Walter! Let them go!_" When the pale nobleman refused to relent, she lifted her hand and slapped him across the face. Lord Armster reeled back in surprise, his dark blue eyes widening as she screamed at him over the crowd. "You did not have to do this! What have you done_?_"

"I am trying to save you!" The white-haired lord seethed, his voice returning her rebuke with equal fury. Unwilling to engage her further, he grasped her by the wrist and dragged her into the hallway beyond.

A roar escaped his throat as he watched her disappear. He considered translocating to her, but the powerful and unrelenting hunger immobilized him. He smelled their blood and fear. Its tantalizing aura pulled his tainted soul deeper into the dark confines of pleasure and hatred. A part of him tried to resist and heed her pleas for mercy. She truly believed he could reject his nature for the sake of compassion. Yet, the harder he tried to consider her words, the further away he drifted from the light.

He could not escape his nature.

The sounds of the humans' screams and curses filled his ears. When the noblemen attempted to attack again, he swatted them away, his simple gesture sending several of them flying across the room. His face contorted into a mask of rage as he watched the crowd run for the doors; desperately trying to escape his escalating temper. He focused his thoughts on the doors and slammed them shut; his eyes gleaming with repressed delight at their unsuccessful attempts to wrench them open. He watched them struggle, his dark eyes glowing a shade of brilliant crimson as he calmly walked toward the crowd – servants, noblemen, noblewomen, musicians, suddenly all seemed the same in his eyes. All of them knew what he was and despised and feared him for it. He knew he could not be safe as a monster, now he could not be safe playing as a lord. Their screams matched the ones inside his heart - and would not stop. He did not desire to live among them; he desired only their blood and their lives. Their screams would fall silent when their throats were gone, and their hearts stopped.

He lunged at the hapless creatures. Blood spattered across the floor and walls as he grasped one after the another, slashing some apart with his bare hands while draining others of their blood. He ripped his fangs through their throats, tearing the fragile flesh as they flailed and struggled in his grasp. When a man attempted to stab him in the back with his sword, he whirled and smashed his skull into one of the hall's arched windows. Blood gushed between his gloved hands and covered the glass in a sea of red. Panting gasps escaped his lips as he furiously tore a man clean in half like a piece of parchment. Blood, organs and intestines scattered across the floor as he tossed the mutilated corpse into the crowd. He listened to their screams, pleased by their desperate pleas for mercy.

Everything except the blood was lost to him. Their bodies blurred together as he caught and mutilated anyone unfortunate enough to come within his terrifying grasp. Each kill only increased his hunger. A terrible, dark power coursed through him while he stormed the room, tossing humans aside until the entire floor was painted red. The Ebony Stone's dark power demanded his submission, for its control bent him to its will. Only its power remained, and for only a slight moment, he yielded. A horrendous cry vibrated from his throat as he regained his composure and tried to resist the darkness clawing at his soul in demand for freedom. All the while, his eyes watched them run their wide eyes asking God what they had done to deserve his depravity. His trembling hand grasped the stone secured to his neck with a desire to grind it to dust. The smell of their blood, pain and fear transformed his turmoil into indignation. The stone, ever demanding in its control, twisted his mind and consumed its shredded remnants. He tried to rip the object from his neck but could not. As he screamed for deliverance, he felt his arms shift into leathery, bat-like wings. Desperate to rid himself of his ill fate, he outstretched his arms and clawed at the sky – as if God might at last see his shame and lift him from the hell of his own creation. Yet, all he heard was screaming – his own and those of the ones he butchered – whilst his feet transformed into monstrous clawed appendages.

A bright red glow surrounded him as his body lifted off the floor. His grief and regret were unceremoniously devoured by the creature's cruel hatred. Black leathery skin replaced his. He lifted a screaming noblewoman off the floor in his talons; rising to the height of the ceiling before he let go and watched her fall. Her head hit the marble at an angle with a sickening crack, and her body bent to an unnatural degree. Blood spattered across the walls, floor and the statues of angels along the room – their fair, beautiful faces decorated crimson.

He had almost succeeded in obtaining some form of happiness – only for it to be ripped away by his accused slavery to the stone. Whilst his soul cried out in anguish, his monstrous form released a low, guttural roar. Maddened by his torment, he yielded completely to the stone's relentless power. He arched his massive wings; building the stone's energy within his accused soul until a ball of bluish white electrified light slowly materialized before him. He released it with a tremendous roar and watched a dome of fire explode across the room –burning all in its path with his hellish lust for death. When the flames subsided, the screams and cries of the survivors fell silent. Body parts littered the floor around him as the pungent scent of burning flesh offended his senses.

With nothing left to destroy, the stone abruptly released him. The red-haired lord collapsed onto the floor; his lush crimson hair splaying haphazardly around his face and shoulders. As he staggered to his knees, he stared at the carnage he had wrought. The hunger coursing through him finally subsided. His thoughts cleared; at last allowing him to look upon the result of his enslavement. Surrounded by death; he wretched at the severity of his folly. Never had he considered his actions _crimes_ \- until he reflected upon Arabella's plea for his mercy. He covered his face with his hands, unable to accept the emotion his guilt wrought.

Walter staggered to his feet and flew across the blood-soaked floor toward the tower. Even though the stone tortured him, he depended upon it. He would no longer pretend he was anything except a monster. But he would have her, no matter the cost. It surprised him to realize his game was now _reversed_ – that he was the one seeking out that which he desired; desperately hoping to save her from the fate that _he_ created.

The sounds of her screams alerted him. He scanned the forest until he caught sight of her running up the path toward the castle. Behind her, Lord Armster gave chase upon his horse. The animal's rapid hoof beats reverberated through the silence. His long white hair flew behind him as he urged the equine onward; digging the steel heels of his boots into its sides to spur it into a gallop. There was nowhere for the woman to run where Lord Armster could not obtain her, for the rocky formations lining the path created a bottleneck she could not escape. He knew not how she managed to slip from the pale lord's grasp, but by some miracle, or curse, she had.

She was too far to reach the forest before Lord Armster would be upon her. Though his surroundings still gave the illusion of night, he sensed the sun beginning to rise beyond the border. His lips formed a frown as he surveyed the scene. Anger simmered beneath his calm, dark spheres. He considered allowing Lord Armster to catch her, for he knew where they dwelled and could obtain her at nightfall. However, he suspected that if he waited, the devious lord would likely send her away during the daytime – far away, where even _he_ could not easily find her.

It incensed him be exploited in such a manner, no matter how clever or necessary it was. He felt the lady's fear grow as she realized the hopelessness of her endeavor. Her desperation beckoned his intervention. He considered sending Pumpkin instead, but like him, the imp was bound to the night. The familiar would not reach the lady before Lord Armster claimed her.

After drawing a heavy breath, he determined there was no option except to go to her. His superior speed and strength would enable him to snatch her from the pale lord's grasp. Once he had her, he would bid a hasty retreat to his domain before the sun hindered his efforts. If the pale lord tried to pursue him, he would eliminate the man the second he set foot beyond the border.

Then, remembering his promise to spare Lord Armster, he hesitated.

His massive form swooped toward the ground with terrifying speed. When he landed upon the path, he ran toward the edge of the forest, his long black cloak billowing behind him as he went. To hasten his pace, he translocated further up the path. Fury overwhelmed him as he rushed to reach her first. He would not allow Lord Armster to claim her, for she was his, and his greater power guaranteed victory.

As he neared the edge of the forest, the night slowly receded. He felt the stone's power begin to wane in the approaching daylight. The moment Lord Armster saw him, he pulled back on his horse's reigns, causing the animal's hooves to slide across the uneven terrain. The horse emitted a loud whinny and rose upon its haunches in protest. The man gripped the reigns in his fist, his pallid face a mask of fury and enthusiasm.

Lord Armster's unexpected eagerness made Walter stop. In that moment, he realized the man had _deliberately_ let the woman escape. He noted the rays peaking over the trees. It was too late to retreat, as he had already passed the forest border.

She continued running, the sight of him spurring her onward. The fear in her voice beckoned him further from Eternal Night's protection. "_Walter!_"

His eyes caught sight of figures moving at the top of the rocky terrain lining the path. Within seconds, a horrible, searing pain ripped through his thigh and caused him to stagger back. His throat emitted a loud roar as his eyes shot to the arrow that pierced his flesh. Horrible, agonizing pain ripped through his body. Blood spurted from the wound and streamed down his leg in thin, red rivers. His eyes widened; their black spheres glassy with amazement from realizing that he had been _wounded_. Five archers emerged from the protection of the trees lining the rocky terrain above. Each of them held a bow that was aimed at him. The quivers drew back in anticipation.

He grasped the arrow's feathered end, ripped it out, and snapped it in his fist. With a proud laugh, he lifted his hand and pulled one of the archers forward with his thoughts. The man cried out, releasing his grip upon the bow, and toppled over the steep cliff.

When he turned his attention to the other four, a storm of arrows quickly assailed him. Pain exploded through his body when one of the arrows pierced his left shoulder, whilst another ripped through his abdomen. Walter staggered back, his eyes widening with pain and fury as blood gushed from his wounds and flowed over his coat and boots. He tried to focus on the remaining archers, eager to crush them with his thoughts, but could not summon the strength to do so.

_The sun._

The sphere's golden rays streamed through the trees and across his pale, vulnerable form. As if his entire body was on fire, horrible, searing agony immobilized him. He bared his fangs, his eyes alight as he grasped the arrows protruding from his shoulder and abdomen and ripped them out. As he forced his trembling body onward, a trail of smeared blood followed in his wake. She was now merely a few feet from him. Despite her nearness, she still seemed far away. He gasped as one of his hands reached helplessly for the Ebony Stone – but in the sunlight, it was nothing more than a useless trinket.

All at once, his proud expression dissipated into despair. "What? No…this cannot be! Surely…my power…shall overcome…even this_!_"

His once flawless cheeks started to flake and corrode. As if he had been thrown into a pit of acid, a low, enraged roar sounded from his throat. Blood pooled around him on the ground. The morning sun reflected off its crimson sheen. His red hair curtained his decaying face as he struggled to get up. Before he could, he saw Lord Armster withdrawing a bow tethered to the pack on his saddle.

The pale lord positioned an arrow in the weapon's quiver, took aim, and released it.

Explosions of pain ripped through him when the arrow pierced his chest. Blood gushed from the wound in a thick, red stream and slowly ran down his coat, leg and boot. Stilled by the lord's assault, he collapsed to his knees. Unable to pull it out, he gasped – his eyes widening at the sight of blood pooling around him on the ground. _His_ blood.

His dark spheres reflected the sun's golden light. Its mesmerizing and terrifying beauty entranced him completely. Longing filled him as he looked at its form rising into the sky.

He had been damned since his _conception_.

Whereas she believed in free will, sunlight banished him to the shadows. Despair filled him as he surrendered to God's cruel punishment. He did not know what it was like to die. Until then, he had never thought about it. Though he once mocked death, as the sun seared and blistered his skin, he recoiled in fear. Without the Ebony Stone's protection, he would not return to life if he perished.

A tiny, mournful smile creased the corners of his lips. He extended his hand to her, silently begging her to take it - one last time. "_You…will…not take her…!_"

She took his hand and pulled him toward her. "No!" She held him tightly, unwilling to let him go despite the fact the archers had turned their weapons upon them both. "You can't die!"

Lord Armster held up a hand. The silent motion prompted the archers to withdraw – for the moment. The lord's smirk broadened. As he observed the scene atop his horse, he hissed. "So, the child was telling the truth, after all."

"What?" She looked over her shoulder at him.

"Children are easily manipulated," He replied, convicting the creature with a hateful smile. "I only had to threaten her once before she revealed your intentions. Her family's heretical dedication to the secret arts was useful leverage. Do you really think I would go to the Vatican while knowing that monster coveted you? I saw his letters, Arabella. They were easy enough to find with the child's assistance."

"You threatened to have Justine's entire family killed because of _me_?" She spat.

"I will deal with you when we return to the manor."

"I am not going back!"

"You _will_ return. If you do not…" He ushered to the red-haired lord crumpled on the ground. "I will leave that abomination to the sun's mercy."

Walter stared at the golden sphere in the sky.

At last, he saw the sun.

And it was more beautiful than he imagined.

For a moment his agony subsided. When his gaze returned to her; his eyes reflected her face within their obscure pools. He might have been content to burn away in the light, but for her embrace. Knowing Lord Armster would soon be upon them, he lifted his cloak and swept it over them both. Haggard gasps fled his decaying lips as he quickly grasped the stone adorned around his neck. With a sharp pull, he released the necklace's gold clasp and pressed the object into her palm. Then, reaching into the pocket of his cloak, he withdrew the music box and passed it to her. Without hesitating, she tucked the objects into the pocket of her dress.

He wanted to tell her of his plan, and more, but as part of his throat had burned away, he could not speak.

With the last of his strength, his charred fingertips gently caressed her face.

Slowly, his vision faded to black.


	18. Interlude

**Chapter 18**

Footsteps echoed across the stone floor. The creature slowly lifted his head; his dark eyes focusing on the door. Curtains of matted crimson hair hung limply around his face. His fine clothing had been stripped away, leaving behind a husk of a man slouched against the floor. Blood dripped down his back in streams and pooled around his feet. Though his face wore a mask of indifference, agony ripped through him. He looked up at the barred window in front of him, his eyes bitterly tracing the star-dotted sky. The night provided a much-needed reprieve from merciless sunlight. Every so often, the guards peered at him through the door's tiny window – temporarily blocking the lone candle, his only source of light, located on the table outside his cell.

The guards had given him only a tattered shirt and pants to wear. The dirty white shirt hung loosely from his muscular frame. It's v-shaped neckline and billowy sleeves were stained with blood. His dirty black breeches, barely large enough to fit his tall, muscled frame, were torn in several places. During the afternoon, they brought him to a different cell and tied his great frame atop an old wooden ship wheel. Sunlight streamed through a tiny window and burned his flesh. Although it caused him excruciating pain, the paltry amount of light was not enough to disintegrate him. In accordance with their lord's orders, the guards spun the wheel and whipped his back and shoulders. This lasted until, exhausted, they cast him back into his cell to rot for the remainder of the day.

After a time, he grew tired of their stares, and moved to the room's furthest corner. He pressed his injured back against the stone and turned his head toward the wall. One of his hands touched the wall's cold surface. Anger rippled through him as he dug his nails into the stone, silently cursing his weakened state. He tried to think but his mind was bereft of all except his torment. Though he cared not for man's pitiful thoughts, he shrank away from their staring eyes, refusing them the satisfaction of witnessing his crumbling façade.

"Oi, do you see him?" He heard an earnest voice speak; though it was somewhat muffled by the heavy door.

The cover on the door's small window slid back, revealing two men on the other side. He could not see them entirely, for the window was too small, though their faces and demeanor affirmed their youth.

After a few moments of tracing his outline with in the darkness, as if to confirm his existence was not imaginary, the first man remarked. "Tough bastard received a hundred lashings this afternoon and took each without flinching. You'd think the creature thought them nothing more than mosquito bites. My arm even started to get tired after a time. I wish Lord Armster would let us use the rack instead."

"Is he…really…?" The shorter guard asked, his voice quavering with growing unease. "He doesn't _look_ like one – at least, not to me."

"How would you know what _they_ look like?" The tall guard snapped.

"I never said I did!" The other retorted. "But I did not imagine them to look like _that_."

"So, what did you imagine them to look like?"

"I don't know! I suppose…more…bloodthirsty? He appears a normal man to me."

The first man rolled his eyes. "Fool! That _thing_ in there is more dangerous than anything you or I have ever seen. It is no more a man than I am a Saint!"

"Well, you certainly think you act like one-"

"Shut up!"

The sliding cover suddenly slammed shut. Muffled voices continued speaking on the other side. He heard the distinct jingling of keys before the lock clicked. The door groaned in protest upon opening, its rusted hinges reluctantly admitting two men inside the tiny chamber.

The men stared at him as if he were a vicious animal. "You there!" The first man spoke – his voice tenuous despite his attempted confidence. "Show your face this instant! My friend here wants to see you for himself."

Walter reacted as if a pair of cockroaches had scuttled into his domain. He hoped they would lose interest. But he knew better, for humans held an insatiable – and grating – curiosity for anything beyond their limited understanding. Had he not been in a weakened state, he would have torn them apart with terrifying ease. Though he cast a thousand silent curses upon them, pity briefly tempered his hatred. Her words, "_It is far easier to hate than to understand those who would do us harm. I cannot change what you are, but perhaps I can change what you become,_" filtered through his memory. He wanted to curse her for provoking such thoughts but could not deny her truth.

When he neither responded nor moved, the first man stepped closer and withdrew the whip coiled at his hip. He tapped the ends of the object impatiently against his thigh.

"I said show your face!" He hissed, his voice lowering as he uncoiled the weapon. "Or do you require a few more lashings for motivation? I'd be happy to oblige, fiend-"

Before he could continue, the second guard tapped the man's shoulder. "Wait! Lord Armster is _here_."

A tall, slender figure obscured the dim candlelight. The figure cast shadow across the prisoner's blood-stained form. The man's long silver robes fanned around him as he stood, staring at the creature, his eyes shining in the dimly lit space. The wind whistled through cracks in the stone walls; its hollow, lonely sound briefly breaking the silence.

With a low huff, the pale lord's cold, sharp voice echoed. "You are more difficult to break than I thought." he remarked. "I expected no less, though everything has a weakness. Even _you_."

The creature emitted a haggard cough. His rippling muscles shuddered, causing the shackles binding him to clink miserably from the slightest movement. With slow, excruciating steps, he slipped away from the wall and approached the doorway. Blood covered his shoulders and back. The once smooth, flawless skin was marred by bruises, welts, and lash marks. His dark eyes surveyed the human, glinting with a loathing and determination to tear him to pieces. The steel shackles around his ankles chafed across the floor; their metallic sound cursing his inability to break them.

A tiny, emotionless smile creased the corners of his cracked lips. "Indeed." Walter replied, his voice resonating off the walls of the derelict cell. "All things have weaknesses…but none more than man. You think you can cage me like a beast? Such imprudence shall not go unpunished."

The man's lips curled into a sneer, his eyes narrowing upon the creature with growing disgust. He flicked his hand, his sapphire colored eyes glinting with delight. "How do you intend to punish _me_?" He laughed. The sound of his amusement ricocheted off the walls. "Without the night, you are nothing more than dust. Were it not for Lady Rohesia, I may not have succeeded in binding you to my will. Yet, here you are."

"For now." Walter pulled weakly against the chains, feeling the metal strain against his tender wrists when they refused to let him move closer. "If you believe I am no more than dust, approach me. You have merely one life…which I could easily drain from you like wine from a cask."

"Of course." The white-haired crusader replied, his voice as calm as a summer breeze. After hesitating a moment, he stepped forward – just shy of the creature's reach. His silver robes shimmered in the darkness, whist the soles of his steel boots tapped lightly across the floor. "That may be so, but you are in no position to boast, fiend. Not while I have something of great importance to you."

A low, throaty chuckle vibrated from his throat. "Is that so?" The red-haired lord rasped. "Do go on, human. There is nothing you have that I cannot take, eventually-"

"Oh, but there is." He grinned darkly. "You think I do not know what your accursed heart desires?" Walter's eyes widened, which prompted the crusader to continue. "Truly, tis' surprising that a creature beloved by the night could fall so easily."

"What has easily fallen can also rise again." Walter huffed.

The crusader backhanded him across the face. Blood splattered from the red-haired lord's lips and sprinkled the walls and floor. Aching thirst, combined with constant exposure to the sun, had weakened him greatly. Without the Ebony Stone's protection his powers had diminished to nothing. Blood drained down his throat from the fresh wound on his mouth; its thickness suffocating him. He gagged in repugnance. The foul taste of his own blood was like acid upon his tongue.

"Empty threats will get you nothing. The sun will rise in a few hours. As God dictates, you will wither and die in its light – as you should. But before that happens, I thought it best Lady Rohesia paid you a visit. I want her to see you for the wretched fiend that you truly are. Only then will she understand why I had no choice but to intervene…and save her soul from damnation."

The door opened and a guard entered, carrying an iron muzzle enclosed within an iron framework. "Well, what are you waiting for?" The white-haired lord seethed. "I will not allow this fiend to pollute her mind further with its honeyed words. Apply the branks."

When the guard attempted to slide the device over his head, he threw his heavier form against the chains in protest.

Without hesitation, Lord Armster grasped him by the hair and slammed his face against the floor.

Dazed by the blow, he gazed up at the man's pale, scowling face. No one had ever struck him without repercussion. Unable to reciprocate, he coughed up a clot of blood. The guard positioned the iron cage over his head. Still unwilling to surrender, he forced himself to sit up – pulling furiously against the chains as the man forced the terrible metal bit into his mouth. His incredible strength, though tempered by his injuries, was enough to cause one of the iron pedestals securing him to the wall to give way.

Without hesitating, the white-haired nobleman aimed a swift kick at his ribcage. Walter's heavy, blood-soaked form careened against the floor once again. Blood smeared the stone around him whilst his matted, dirty hair fell haphazardly around his face. The device's steel frame dug into the back of his head whilst he lay where he had fallen, unable to move. Blood-starved, he clenched his jaw around the insufferable bit in his mouth, ignoring the searing pain it caused in response.

Seemingly content by his submission, the crusader motioned with his hand. As if on cue, the heavy steel door groaned open.

Walter's attention immediately locked upon the woman it revealed. As soon as he saw her grieved expression, his eyes cast themselves to the floor. He wished the shadows would swallow him and hide his ruinous state. He struggled to rise but faintness made the effort nearly impossible. Like a lame horse, he stumbled to his feet – barely maintaining his balance as blood streamed from his wounds. Resigned to silence, he forced himself to look upon her. His once powerful, muscular frame shuddered involuntarily. He wanted to shout curses at the nobleman, but the words were trapped in his throat. Resigned to silence, he slumped into the shadows - unwilling to let the moonlight expose his brokenness.

The crusader snatched the woman by the arm and wrenched her into the forlorn cell. When she pulled against him, he released his hold and let her fall forward upon the floor. Her ashen dress fanned around her as she struggled to her knees. In that moment, Walter's eyes met hers. Anger overwhelmed her sorrow at the sight of his bloody form. Though he wished to comfort her, his inability to speak made his words incoherent. The bit sliced at his tongue, causing lightning bolts of pain to sear through his mouth and jaw. Her unexpected presence humiliated him. So great was his torment that his throat released another indiscernible roar. Lord Armster's cold blue eyes flittered to him – their indifference clashing against his fiery hatred.

She tried to approach but the man placed a firm hand on her shoulder. His gauntlet-covered fingers dug into her fair skin and held her in place. Unable to move, she covered her face with her hands, her voice quavering as she cried. "What are you doing?" Tension ran through every fiber of her being when she continued. "You will gain nothing from this! I can no longer look at you and see a man, for what kind of man commits such horrid acts in God's name?"

"Do you truly believe God sanctions _this_?" The crusader pointed his index finger at the red-haired creature chained to the wall like an animal. "That vile wretch lured you into its domain to destroy your soul. With God's divine aid, I uncovered its treachery and saved you from it!"

Walter fell still. At last realizing that he could not free himself, he slumped against the wall. His dark eyes, illuminated by moonlight, focused only on her. Though he had longed for her, her sorrow consumed him. He had murdered hundreds of innocents to save _himself. _Had he not fallen to bloodlust, perhaps, he would have saved her instead. The possibility played over and over in his mind, tormenting him until he could withstand it no more. She had begged him to spare their lives and he willingly chose to destroy them. Knowing this, he lowered his head and stared at the floor – his shame curtained by coils of his crimson, blood-soaked hair.

As if sensing his pain, the lady shook her head. Her long, silky hair cascaded around her face whilst she breathed. "I regret his suffering – and knowing you! You are too foolish realize that he tried to save me from _you_."

To this, the white-haired nobleman could not think of a response. Anger boiled in his eyes until he grasped her by the hair and dragged her forward. "You dare rebuke me?" He shouted, his voice straining with tempered fury. "I dedicated my life to serving God! Everything I do is in His name!"

Anger surged within her eyes as she spat. "What about the hundreds of lives that were lost? You left those people to _die_ just so you could obtain me! Was that in God's name, too?"

Lord Armster shook his head, his voice regaining its former calm as he hissed. "I had no choice! Had you not invited them to their deaths, they would still be alive! What did you think would happen? That this fiend would somehow _change_ for _you_?" A loud, emotionless laugh vibrated from his throat.

With a trembling breath, she shook her head. "I am not without blame. My soul is forever blackened by death. Even knowing what Lord Bernhard is, and his crimes, I would rather burn in hell with him than exist in heaven without him."

Walter trembled, attempting to hold his calm. He longed for her embrace despite knowing he was undeserving of it. The thought of her loving _him_ made him recoil in shame.

"Madness!" The white-haired lord's voice rose. Unwilling to accept her words, he gave the red-haired creature a disgusted look. With a scoff, he pulled her into his arms. Though she did not resist, her visible displeasure made him wince. After pausing a moment, his fine lips curled. "I will save you from that fiend, whether it is by your will or not. God would never sanction this unholy union, and neither shall I. You will relinquish yourself to me! Should you disobey, this wretch will pay for your sins!"

To this, the woman's eyes widened. Her breath hitched in her chest and her eyes once again locked on the red-haired creature. "No one can pay for my sins but I."

"A thoughtful sentiment, were it true." Lord Armster retorted. "Your soul is more important to me than all the kingdoms of heaven. Can you not see that I alone love you truly? Demons are incapable of love. Why else would God choose to cast it into the dark recesses of the night?"

An exasperated sigh fled her lips. The fire in her eyes diminished and she lowered her head. "What do you want of me?"

"Everything." His hand slipped to her face and cupped it as if she were a doll. His long, pearly white hair cascaded around her. "I want that fiend to hear your admission. Choose me, or the pyre."

"Send me to the pyre then, for I am the sinner deserving damnation, and not he." Her icy rebuke extinguished his fury.

His sapphire eyes widened; his pale skin and ivory hair giving him an eerie and unsettling air. Sorrow washed across his face as if her words alone could to shatter his soul. He drew a trembling breath. "Must you injure me so, Arabella?" His voice softened. "Surely…there was a time when you loved me. If not, you will _learn_ to love me one day."

"No, I will not." She answered, refusing to reward his sorrow with affirmation. "If there was a time, it has long passed. Now, I feel nothing."

"Feelings change." He insisted, his voice once again regaining its familiar coldness.

"Indeed, they do." Her eyes drifted to the red-haired demon secured to the wall.

Walter watched her trace the grisly wounds on his body. Disgust flashed across her face as she reached out and touched the iron contraption binding him to unwilling silence. Her presence comforted him, though he dare not reveal it, for fear Lord Armster would cause her further injury. She alone knew the importance of the burden he had bestowed her before his capture. Her hand gently caressed his blood-soaked hair, as if to assure him her presence was not imaginary. As he looked at her, his rage subsided into despair. He would have rather given himself to death than allow the pale nobleman to have her. He tried to speak but the contraption binding his tongue sent waves of pain through his jaw – reminding him of his powerlessness. Instead, a low, guttural cry sounded from his throat when she lowered her head.

"I will not ask again," Lord Armster glared at the creature with dagger-like hatred. "If you refuse, I will burn this _thing_ at the stake a fortnight from now. I will make you watch its accursed body succumb to fire until all that remains of its existence is dust. You will hear its anguished screams for mercy until Satan finally claims it once more."

The woman's fair complexion paled. Unable to listen to his ranting, she held up a hand. "Shut the hell up, you _cunt_!"

The white-haired lord fell silent. After drawing a trembling breath, she turned to look at him, her face a mask of loathing and despair. Her voice regained its familiar calm. "I will agree, if you release him."

Walter's eyes widened. He lunged toward the man, his throat releasing a horrified roar while his arms struggled against the chains. Had he been able to break them, he would have ripped the pale devil apart with his bare hands. Though he had imagined many outcomes, he did not expect her to sacrifice _herself_. Instead of freeing her from the pale nobleman, he had damned her. The realization stung him far worse than any torture he had endured. The significance of his mistake removed any hope left. All at once, uncontrollable emotion surged within him. As the horrendous metal plate cut into his tongue, he managed to sound a single word.

The despair in his voice drew her immediate attention. "_No_!"

"Out of the question." The white-haired lord scoffed, his attention averting from the red-haired creature to the woman once again. "I will not unleash this creature upon the world. Do you think me a fool? It will surely return to damn us both!"

"You and I are already damned." She whispered. "If you will not agree, you will have to send me to the pyre with him."

A long silence followed. When she made no effort to recant her threat, Lord Armster's eyes widened. His face seemed to lose all the color it possessed. He ran a hand through his hair, his unease growing each passing moment. "I would rather you choose to live with me than die with that…that…_monster_." As the horror of her fate seemed to press itself upon his mind, his voice softened. "Arabella, I…could not…bear to see you perish. If the church discovers your indiscretion, they would surely-"

"If you will not free him, at least promise you will not kill him."

"And in return?" The pale nobleman's piercing eyes locked with hers. A tiny smile creased the corners of his lips – professing his sudden, undivided attention.

"I will do as you wish." She sighed. Then, raising her head, her voice firmed. "I will marry you, Zaviean."

"But we are already betrothed." He snipped, his smile broadening in amusement. Her admission seemed to stir within him a long-awaited moment of satisfaction. "Your father accepted my proposal and pledged your dowry to me."

"Would you rather I reject you outright? Though you won the church's favor, they have always been suspicious of your pale skin and hair. Perchance I tell my father and the bishops that you sent me into the arms of a demon-"

"Enough!" The white-haired lord released her and turned away. His voice, once cold and assertive, withered in the wake of her threat. With a heavy sigh, the crusader lowered his head. Curtains of silky white hair fell against his pallid cheeks. Despite his hard-fought victory, his eyes showed no joy. "I accept. Soon, you will be my wife…and this…_thing_, will be my prisoner. Should you disobey me, I will kill it without a second thought. Never forget, you are _mine_."

"How could I?" She challenged, her eyes burning him with her hatred. "Tis' no wonder the church calls you the pale horseman. Your love is like a plague upon me."

Lord Armster released a trembling sigh, his silvery white form blending with the pale moonlight as he lamented. "I thought you would not loathe me because of my condition."

The woman's grey-blue eyes locked with his. "It is not your condition I loathe, Lord Armster…it is _you_."

* * *

Days passed, each one of them more torturous than the next. Three men entered his cell. Knowing what was about to happen, the red-haired lord made no effort to oppose them. They grasped his filthy white shirt, pulled it over his head, and threw it into the corner. A low, rasping breath escaped his lips as he slumped to the floor. His back and shoulders, covered in hundreds of lash marks, seared in agony. Blood streamed from his wounds. Were he human, he would have likely died from his injuries. As he was not, he silently endured his endless pain. Blood-starved, he was barely able to lift his head. Even the slightest movement took tremendous effort. His once flawless ashen skin was covered in so much blood, dirt and filth that he was almost unrecognizable. Though larger than the guards, his toned arms and legs lacked their former strength. Although he healed much faster than humans, it was not fast enough to overcome his daily torture.

The guards dragged him across the floor. He released a haggard cough as they threw his great frame into the other cell. It took all three guards to move him. As soon as they lifted him to his feet, they slammed him against the wheel and chained his hands and feet to separate dowels. His crimson hair hung in limp, blood-stained strands around his face. When he tried to lift his head, one of the guards grasped a dowel and spun the wheel. He tried to focus but his vision, blurred by the wheel's rapid motion, could not discern one thing from another. As soon as it threatened to lose momentum, one of the guards spun it again. Laughter echoed off the chamber's barren stone walls and reverberated through his mind. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to ignore it, until one of the three guards withdrew a cat-o-nine tails.

Searing pain suddenly overwhelmed him. Sprinkles of blood and flesh flew into the air each time the whip's multi-tailed ends struck his back. He had grown to fear and loathe its brutal sound. If he dare utter a word, one of them would get the branks and force him to wear it – sometimes for days, if they were so inclined.

When his face contorted in anguish, the men burst into a fit of uproarious laughter.

"Pathetic bastard!" Bored of flogging him, the tall guard stopped the wheel. He withdrew a pair of steel pliers from his waist belt. The device's deadly points caught Walter's attention. Barely conscious of what was happening, the red-haired lord lifted his head – his dark spheres flashing a shade of red. "We can't kill it, but maybe we can clip those pearly whites!"

"Are you mad?" The other guard shoved the man, his voice rising in displeasure. "What if doing that kills it? Lord Armster will surely flog us, next! Doesn't it need them to…feed…?"

"Who cares?" The tall guard shrugged, his eyes locking upon the creature's blood-caked face. "It doesn't react to floggings; maybe this will change things up a bit? If you don't want me to do it, then you beat the wretch and I'll watch."

After pausing a moment, the second guard shook his head. Though Walter could not clearly discern their faces, the shorter guard's light brown eyes looked at him in disgust.

Upon sighting the creature's fury, the guard backed away, his voice trembling despite his effort to hide it. "Do as you please, but don't expect me to help. I don't trust it."

"It's tied up, idiot!" The tall guard rolled his eyes, his voice filling with disdain whilst he lifted the pliers and sniped the air. "I like the term 'defanging.' It will be like a wolf without teeth – completely harmless. Perhaps, we can share this technique with other regions! We could be famous!"

"Don't be stupid!" The shorter guard backed further away. After reaching an acceptable distance from their prisoner, his voice regained its former steadiness. "If Lord Armster finds out you told _anyone_, the pale devil won't hesitate to put _you_ on the wheel."

Seeming to agree with his comrade's observation, the tall guard sighed. "Sometimes, I think there isn't much difference between that pale son of a bitch and this pale…thing. What if Lord Armster is one of _their_ _kind_, too?"

"Are you serious?" The shorter guard laughed, his voice torn between intrigue and irritation. "I've seen him fight the Saracens in the middle of the goddamn desert, idiot – _during the daytime_. I heard he killed over a hundred of them in one battle. That man is a hero! Keep your stupidity to yourself."

After giving his comrade a scathing look, the tall guard snipped the air with the pliers and approached the red-haired creature chained to the wheel. Walter's dark, obscure eyes followed the man's every move. Seeming to know he was being watched, the man grasped the creature by the hair and yanked his head back. Then, whilst holding the pliers in his other hand, he gave the creature a scornful look.

The man's voice lowered to a hiss. "Lord Armster instructed us not to kill you, but that doesn't mean I won't find _new_ ways to make you suffer. We can't have you trying to bite us, can we? That stupid woman should have let you die, for it would have been far kinder."

Walter's eyes widened. Incensed by the insult, a low, guttural snarl vibrated from his throat.

The man's hand slipped to his jaw and attempted to force his mouth open. Unwilling to submit, the red-haired lord thrashed his head – his glowing red spheres piercing the darkness. In an effort to obtain his submission, the guard stepped closer and lowered his face to inspect his fangs. As the man tried to shove the pliers in his mouth, he threw his head up and snatched the man's cheek in his teeth. Gurgled screamed echoed through the chamber as the red-haired lord drove his fangs deep into the human's flesh. Warm, luscious blood flowed down his throat as he ripped the vulnerable skin away like paper. He tore a large chunk of the man's cheek from his face and spat it out. Overcome by his sudden assault, the guard lurched forward. Blood gushed from the gaping wound in his disfigured face. With a loud snarl, he caught the man's throat with his teeth and plunged his fangs into the vulnerable flesh. With animalistic ferocity, he tore a piece of the human's esophagus away, sucking the blood from the tissue until it was dry as leather. A low, breathless chuckle sounded from his throat. He bit down on it with a sickening crunch whilst blood from the man's neck sprayed onto his face.

Torrents of blood rained upon the floor as the tall guard staggered backward and fell upon the ground. Low, gurgling gasps filled the air as the man writhed like a fish out of water.

Walter's cracked lips formed a smirk. Pleased by his success, his voice rose into a loud, mocking laugh.

The shorter guard hurried to his fallen comrade. Still writhing on the floor, dark, red blood flowed from the man's torn jugular and pooled on the ground. With a horrified scream, the short guard attempted to cover the gaping wound with his hand to staunch the bleeding. "Fabian! Get in here, now!" Despite the man's efforts, blood continued swirling out of the other man's throat.

Within moments, the third guard – the tallest and strongest of the lot – re-entered the room. Seeing the blood-covered floor, he ran to the wheel, grasped him by the hair, and slammed his head against its wood surface.

Walter's vision faded to black.

* * *

A loud, metallic groan broke the silence and the door to the cell suddenly swung open. Confined to the corner, and shrouded nearly completely in darkness, the red-haired lord's eyes slowly opened. A low, barely audible huff escaped his lips. He attempted to get up but fell back against the wall; his bare, blood-soaked back hitting the stone with a dull thump. Blood trickled down his arms and back. Despite consuming some of the guard's blood a few days earlier, faintness overwhelmed him. Were he given an opportunity to kill and consume even one of the two remaining guards, he might have been able to gather enough power to escape. Yet, the men – now all-too-aware of his capabilities – refrained from removing the accursed device. He could only tug and shift when the device's steel base dug into his shoulders.

Though the guards refrained from moving him, they flogged him in his cell. He took each lashing in stubborn silence.

Lady Rohesia swept into the room. Her fair face paled at the sight of his beaten, blood-covered form slouched against the wall. Coils of ragged crimson hair fell untidily against his bruised cheeks and shoulders. Except for his breeches, he was naked from the torso-up.

The lady covered her mouth with her hands. "God's bones! What have they done to you?"

The familiar, black oval-shaped object contrasted her fair skin. Despite the stone's presence, his eyes locked upon _her_ – seeking her reassurance whilst silently trying to deny his need for it. As he wondered on the reason for her appearance, he watched her scan the decrepit room, her lips parting slightly as she observed its lonely stone interior and the cold iron chains securing his wrists and ankles to the wall. Once silent, their infuriating, metallic clinks exposed his every movement.

The lady bowed her head. "I returned for you as soon as I could." Grasping him by the arm, she gently coaxed him to his feet. Realizing the device rendered him unable to speak, she looked over her shoulder and shouted. "Guard!"

The shorter guard stepped into the cell. His eyes widened when he noticed the woman's proximity to the creature. "What do you want? The deal was we'd let you see if he still lived. Anything beyond that is none of our concern-"

She held up her hand. "I wish to speak with him. I have paid you and your comrade more than enough for that request."

"You are speaking with him now. I shan't go near it!"

"That is not good enough. You will remove that cage now or, God help me, I will-"

"Do what?" The man challenged, bursting into fit of mocking laughter. "I wonder why it and Lord Armster desire you so? Were you to do me a small 'service,' I may change my mind…"

Trembling, she scowled. "Go sard yourself! I would sooner 'serve' the devil than you!"

"Dear Lord, woman, your tongue is as foul as that ginger-haired bastard!" Unimpressed by her rebuke, the guard turned to the door.

The moment his attention averted; she withdrew a dagger from beneath the folds of her skirt and brought it to his jugular. Her voice fell to a whisper. "The only monster in this room is _you_. You will do as I have demanded, fool, or I will slit your throat from ear to ear. I will not stand idly by while you torture and humiliate him!"

Walter stared in disbelief. Not even his wildest imagination had expected _that_.

"Harlot!" The guard hissed, his frame tensing when she pressed the blade harder against his throat. "Lord Armster should have burnt your filthy body at the stake with that _thing_ and been done with it!"

She dug the blade's sharp edge into the man's fragile skin. His flesh gave way like paper; causing a thin red line to stream from his neck. "If you will not, give me the key and I will do it myself!"

"Go right ahead!" The guard withdrew a small, rusted key from his coat pocket.

She snatched it from his hand. Having received what she sought; she withdrew the blade from his throat and pressed it against his ribcage. As the man turned to cross the threshold to the hallway beyond, she lifted her foot and kicked him sharply in the groin. The guard yelled and stumbled into the corridor.

Half-shadowed in darkness, she stepped into the doorway and scowled. "Call me _that_ again, and I will cut your testicles off! Or at least, I would, if you had any to begin with."

The man glared back; nearly spitting in rage. "May the devil take you, woman!"

To this, she smirked. "May he, _indeed_…" Flicking her long, golden hair, she turned away.

Then, while the guard was still groaning with pain, she slammed the heavy door shut, shoved the key into the lock and turned it until an audible click interrupted the silence.

Collecting herself, her attention focused on their prisoner.

Walter's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I do not have much time," She began. "That coward is probably seeking reinforcements as I speak."

The skirt of her long, grey dress trailed across the room's filthy, blood and dirt caked floor. Whilst observing the countless wounds marring his back and shoulders, she hurriedly unlocked the device securing his head.

"They can all go to hell!" She shoved the key into the lock on the back of the iron framework. When it clicked, she loosened the heavy steel ring around its base until it was wide enough for his head to fit through. Then, with a decisive pull, she lifted the heavy contraption away from his head. With as much strength as she had, she threw it at the wall. "It is done." She sighed. While looking at him, she bowed her head. Her voice fell quiet. Tendrils of long golden hair fell around her paling face. "Forgive me, Lord Bernhard."

"For what?" He asked, sighing as he rubbed his swollen shoulders. Blood-covered lines encircling the base of his neck marred his skin. As he struggled to continue standing, he leaned against the cold wall behind him. Before she could reply, he forced the bitter words from his throat. "Is it because you _married_ him?"

Anger filled her voice as she gazed at his bruised, pale face. "I did what was necessary. Perhaps you think I am a fool?"

He smiled weakly. "I would not have ventured into sunlight for a fool." Pausing, he added. "But I would, for you."

She smiled. "Though Lord Armster…had his way, I shall not allow him another victory. Thankfully, the Pope commanded him to return to the east the day after our wedding." Trembling in rage, she withdrew her hand and paced the room. "If I see him again it will be too soon."

Whilst thinking on her words, he tensed. With as much strength as he could muster, he cupped her face. His gentle touch prompted her to fall still. When his dark eyes met hers, he whispered softly. "Though your lord thinks himself the victor, he does not know you as I do. If he did, he would realize the folly of his assumption. Nevertheless, I have never seen you this despondent…tell me what troubles you."

Sighing bitterly, she pulled away. "I will not speak on it." A long silence passed. When she reached to touch him, he bent slightly. Upon feeling her warm fingers against his cheek, he gasped. So long had it seemed since she touched him that he scarcely believed she was there. "I came to bid you farewell, Lord Bernhard."

He lifted his other hand to her face, stroking her cheek. Yearning filled him as he gazed at her face. Her profound grief made his tainted soul ache with fear and regret. Unable to articulate the emotions she wrought; he beseeched her reconsideration. The admission fled his lips far more freely than he expected. "This is not farewell." He whispered, the sorrow in his heart at last surfacing. "I will not easily surrender that which I desire most."

"Why?" She asked, her voice falling quiet. "I can offer you nothing except this stone - and your freedom."

"There is a power I have yet to claim." He replied, his confidence rendering her nearly speechless.

After a long pause, she shook her head. "You must forget me!" Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at his tender expression. "I relinquished _everything_ to save you!"

"Now, it is I who will save _you_. Lord Armster has no power over me."

"Alas, the same cannot be said of me." She sighed.

"Your lord's celebration shall be short-lived." Anger flashed within his dark, penetrating spheres as he cupped her face. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he continued. "Though he made you his…_wife_," He paused, his tongue raking the loathsome word. "You are his in name only."

"Is everything about power to you?" She asked, her voice straining under the weight of her question.

Injured by her accusatory tone, he looked away.

Now was not the time.

As his strength was waning, the slightest movement caused him excruciating pain. Despite this, he refused to reveal it to her. He preferred to pretend that he was still invulnerable.

A long silence followed. While gazing up at his exhausted, grieved expression, tears slowly dripped down her cheeks. Despite his silence, her perceptiveness surprised him. "I…did not mean that." She whispered. Then, with a heavy sigh, she continued. "My family does not yet know Lord Armster and I are wed. How I wish I could have wiped that smug look off Father Genesio's face! That foolish churl was almost _giddy_ with anticipation. I waited a whole minute before I said my vows. Though my silence must have felt like an hour for them, it was far too brief for me."

"Had I been invited; I would have gladly decorated for the occasion." He chuckled dryly. "Though I expect, the lady would not have approved. Lord Armster would have also been short a priest for the ceremony – pity."

Aware his choice in 'décor' differed from hers, she laughed. "You haven't changed a bit."

The red-haired lord shook his head, his voice lowering. Looking her in the eye, he brought her hand to his chapped lips and kissed it. With a heavy sigh, he replied faintly. "I have, more than I deserve..."

Uncertain how to respond, her eyes averted to the floor. Though her lips formed a smile, sadness reflected within her pale, gleaming spheres. "Perhaps, you will show me just how much when we meet again."

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps interrupted them. Their time once again at an end, she reached around the back of her neck and unhooked the clasp securing the stone. Taking his hand in hers, she pressed the necklace firmly into his palm.

When her pale eyes met his dark ones, she whispered tenderly. "Go seek the vengeance you desire."

Before he could reply, she hurried to the door. When the guard's voices sounded nearby, their presence growing ever closer, she unlocked it, hurriedly picked up the skirts of her dress, and ran. Without a backward glance, she disappeared down the shadowy hallway, her long, golden hair flying behind her as she went.

No sooner had she left, than loud footsteps and bickering voices filled the air. Walter listened; his eyes narrowing as the guard returned; accompanied closely by his companion. Though they were not yet within sight, he heard them clearly.

"Where were you?" The young man accused, his voice rising with irritation. "I was looking all over for your useless hide!"

"I had to piss!" He replied, his voice carrying down the hallway as they went. "You didn't empty the goddamn chamber pot last time you used it."

"Well," The other man protested. "If you didn't leave it so bloody far from my post, I would've!"

"Why'd you give _her_ the key? That was the _master_ one, idiot! I can't believe you forgot-"

"What was I supposed to do? She is Lord Armster's _wife_! One word from her, and that pale bastard will send us to the gallows!"

"He can't, we're among the few who know. As the church would not approve of him keeping a goddamn demon for a pet, discretion is the difference between living to fight another day or burning on a pyre."

"All of this for a _woman_?" The man scoffed. "I cannot believe he would risk his life and reputation for that ungrateful wench! The church practically worships him; a woman is hardly worth his honor. This entire situation is goddamn _insane_! Regardless, I bet he would have picked someone far smarter than _you_ for the job if he could've!"

"Sod off!"

Walter clutched the stone in his palm as its familiar, dark power coursed through him once again. Like a long-lost lover, he caressed its smooth surface. He thought he wanted nothing more than to have it returned to his possession.

Yet, the moment its power was his, he longed to rid himself of it. What was this weakness? As it was unlike him, he resented it.

His decision to leave Eternal Night's safe embrace and know the world's beauty and temptations had a price. The intensity of his longing and despair frightened him, for he had not truly understood loss until she left his arms. He had never known loneliness until he was forced to return to Eternal Night _without her_. The night, once beautiful and perfect, suddenly trapped him within its shadowy confines. Though he could escape imprisonment, he could never escape the raw emotions she wrought within him.

Noticing the door to his cell was open, the first guard gasped. "Goddamn it, she's gone! I was planning to sard that sneaky cunt!"

Scoffing, his companion snorted. "You'd be planning your own funeral, should Lord Armster find out!"

Upon hearing the first guard's unflattering reference for the lady, Walter's eyes flashed red.

With a swift motion, he ripped the chains securing his wrists from the wall. Smirking, he took a confident step forward; effortlessly detaching the chains secured around his ankles as if they were merely decorative. The Ebony Stone pulsed softly; its power rejuvenating him. Unbound and unrestrained, he reveled in his inevitable liberation. _Freedom_, _immorality_, and _power_ belonged to _him_. Despite this, he desired the one thing that did not: _Arabella._

A low, emotionless chuckle vibrated from his throat. Lord Armster stole her for his bride and left him to rot. He would ensure those who opposed him suffered dearly – and that Lord Armster suffered _most_.

Alarmed by his laughter, the first guard stormed into the small cell, his face contorted into a mask of rage. Though the man was armed, it would be no match against the red-haired creature.

The guard's anger echoed through the tiny space. "What on earth is so funny, you wretched bas-"

Walter snatched the guard by the throat and lifted him off the ground. The red-haired lord grasped the man's shoulder and ripped through the fragile skin like paper. Horrified screams echoed off the walls as he savagely began tearing the man's arm. Fountains of blood rained upon his face and chest whilst his clawed fingernails cut through muscle, bone and sinew with terrifying ease. His thoughts, once focused and clear, were clouded by insatiable hunger. With a horrendous roar, he severed the arm and threw it against the wall. The limb hit the stone with a nauseating slap, leaving a smeared red trail in its wake. Immune to the sound of his tormentor's agonized screams, he ripped the man's other arm from his body, relishing the sight of his former captor's mutilated remains.

With a proud laugh, he drove his fangs into the man's throat and tore out his jugular. He consumed the red substance with abandon, immune to the desperate, gurgling sounds the human made before his body became limp. Walter tossed the corpse aside, his laughter escalating when the other guard stumbled into the room and let out a terrified scream at the grisly scene. He snatched the man by the breastplate and wrenched him forward. Rage and pain surged through his heart as he held the kicking and screaming human up in front of him.

Annoyed by the man's incessant sounds, he shoved his other hand into the man's mouth and grasped his lower jaw. Very slowly, he pulled downward. A dull popping sound rewarded his ears. Blood spurted from the corners of the guard's mouth and neck in rivers. Still dissatisfied, he continued until a dull crunch echoed off the room's barren walls. With a single swift motion, he tore the man's lower jaw from his skull. The human's half-decapitated head lolled back. Torrents of blood fountained from the wound and spattered the walls and floor. He tossed the jaw carelessly over his shoulder; his eyes alight as he felt warm, thick blood squish between his fingers and paint his chest red.

Having regained his strength, the Ebony Stone's power coursed through him. Slowly, his human form changed to into the grey-skinned, demonic beast. His arms shifted into gigantic, powerful wings. As the room was small, his wings arched slightly to fit within the confined space. A horrendous, thunderous roar vibrated from his throat. With fiendish enthusiasm, his glowing red spheres sought the room's small, barred window. Without hesitating, his massive frame clambered up the wall. A flash of fiery energy burst in front of him. The iron and stone instantly crumbled; leaving a large, irregular hole.

With a swift beat of his wings, he vanished into the night.


End file.
